If you are in pursuit of happy hips, it's okay to stalk. Stalk on. And for the busy bee, there is lazy stalking.0
Recall the time I said I could make that hot med student’s hips happy. Well, then I never saw him again. For a moment I thought to stalk him. Hey, it worked for my mother, but then I was literally so busy I forgot to stalk him and then forgot about the whole situation all together. Until last week when I met another med student whom I grilled relentlessly about med student happy hips. Number two did not know happy hips and appeared displeased that I wasn’t interested in him. His name was Scott. I also never saw Scott again.
So imagine my surprise when, while arranging the Sharpie’s at the name tag table for a runner’s design meeting last week, the nearly-forgotten med student in pursuit of happy hips appeared beside me. I buried my excitement and acted like he was just any ‘ol human, neatly wrote his name tag, and went about my table arranging business. When we were seated waiting for latecomers, my friend said, “And do you know blah, blah, blah?” He started to nod his head before I had time to decide whether or not I was going to admit to remembering him. “Yeah,” I said. He reminded me that when we met, he was in with his rents. I said, “Med school, right?” Then I paused an appropriate amount of time so to pretend I was thinking then said, “Orthopedics?”
“You have such a good memory Emma!” said my friend after I threw out a few detailed highlights about our conversation coolly pretending I hadn’t recounted it a million times to twenty different girlfriends.
“For guys. I have a really good memory for guys,” I said looking him in the eye for just a second past comfortable. He shifted in his seat.
During the meeting, happy hips offered helpful suggestions and brought garments he frequently worked out in to show the designer. The designer was very interested in his input. I kind of wanted to lick his tricep muscle. The meeting lasted much longer than I anticipated and being my second design meeting of the day, my brain grew increasingly weary and I became anxious to get out of there. When we concluded, I started to clean up. I wanted to talk more with happy hips guy but was too tired to flirt it out and had to be up super early. My bed beckoned. He left before I could say goodbye.
Half disgruntled, half exhausted, I walked home wondering when I got stretched so thin I had no energy left to flirt. I thought to myself, How did this happen? Too lazy to stalk? Too tired to even flirt, which I am best in the world at? I was becoming one of those girls I detested. I called my friend for reinforcement. “Is it okay if I ask so and so for his email and email him?” I asked.
“Dude, of course. If I stole a guys number off of a pair of pants he was having hemmed, which I did, then of course you can email him.”
“Right,” I said. “If you stole a guys number off of a pair of pants a dude was having hemmed, I can totally email him.”
“Affirmative,” she said. So because my normal tactics have fallen wayside to my crazy schedule, so I am going to the be the aggressor and email him. I fear he’s shy, so he might think I’m crazy. I’m not. I’m just a lazy stalker.
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