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I met him a few weeks ago, and somehow he managed to seep into my subconscious like that "Suga how you get so fly" song. Just like I have no clue who the hell sings it, I don't know why he's there. But he is, whether I like it or not. I know his cell phone, his home phone. I can dial his number faster than I can peck-out 911. But he doesn't know. His name is on my phone, that generic one with the little dancing guy next to it. Not only do I know what a "Call Alert" is, I’ve rigged my phone to play "Fat Guy in a Little Coat" from "Tommy Boy" every time he calls. Then I hang up, and I have a decision to make. To call him and actually talk or not to call at all? These are the ridiculous games that I play on a daily basis. But he doesn't know. He's it. All right, so maybe not "it" it. Not necessarily Mr. Right, but closer to Mr. Right -up -there-with -Jack -Black -and -John -Belushi -on -my -list -of-people -I’d -give -anything -to -be -stranded -with -on -a-broken -down -elevator.
Approximate Word count = 763
Approximate Pages = 3.1
(250 words per page double spaced)
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