I wish I had a secret admirer. Not just any secret admirer, though. She'd have to be pretty and intelligent and funny and all that stuff. And sexy; shit, how did I leave that out? Basically, I want a secret admirer whom I also secretly admire. I want her to write first, though. Maybe I never would have written her. Hard to say. But she'd write me a beautiful, sensuous and poetic letter that expresses how groovy she thinks I am, and the reasons for why she thinks I'm so groovy. Then, upon reading it, I'll be like, "Oh, this has gotta be (Sally), because (Sally) is the only girl I know who uses the word 'groovy' without irony." Then I'll find some way to confront her, but in the sweetest way possible, maybe over a banana-split at some greasy-spoon. I'll let her know by the way I bring it up, though, that I'm clearly interested. Not overly-interested, though, because I know women, and man that would kill it so fast. She'll get all blushy and embarrassed, and I'll say, "It's okay, I'm your secret admirer, too. But instead of bearing my heart in a letter written on three sheets of college-ruled paper, I chose to tell you at happy hour in this crappy diner." She'll say, "Oh, its happy hour?" And I'll say, "Yeah, you want something?" and she'll say, "No, thanks. I'm on a cleanse." That'll throw me off, but I'll recover quickly. "When did you first know?", I'll ask. I'll be hoping she'll say something beautiful like, "When I first read your poetry", or "The first time I saw you on stage", or "That time we broke into that farmhouse and played strip poker", but she wont be able to place it. She'll say something nice and because I like her and really don't want to blow this I wont press the issue. Then there will be a lull in the conversation, and well both become increasingly more interested in the banana-split. I'll wonder if it got quiet because she got interested in the split, or if she got interested in the split because it got quiet. I'll want to ask, but I know that's another deal-breaker, so I've gotta play it cool. Don't fuck this up, please God don't let me fuck this up. Eventually, though, we'll both start to giggle a little, and I'll know it's going to be okay. Finally, she'll ask, "So where do we stand?" And I'll say," Gee, (Sally), I don't know. I guess we could try dating, but I've always been a bit of a whore (women love a challenge), I think I'm ready to try loving again, but I'd be afraid of hurting you." If she buys that one, I'll know I've sealed the deal. She'll say, "I can take care of myself. Besides, what's life without risks?" (Gotcha!) Now I know my hooks are in for a solid three months. Don't get cocky, though, stay cool. I'll reach across the table, and we'll take each other's hands. I'll get mustard on my white sleeve. Fuck. That'll never come out. I'll say, "We've got nothing but time, so lets not rush things." It will be understood that I mean "tonight we do 'everything but' -- no sex till morning." She'll understand that. She's my secret admirer. Only she gets me.