Dear Attractive Coworker,
You and I lifeguard together at the university pool twice a week. You are two years younger than I am, but I am not altogether sure if that really matters at this point in our fledgling lives. You hail from Long Island, and everything you say is prefaced with the slang term “Yo.” I can’t help but wonder if your slightly trashy accent is feigned, if perhaps you think it makes you more appealing. But Attractive Coworker, you already are totally appealing. Your intense blue eyes and extremely feminine dark eyelashes lend you a mysterious gaze. And sure, you look stoned all the time, but it could just be that you suffer from dry, irritated eyes. You go surfing in your free time, which borders on sickeningly appropriate considering the “Beach Party Ken” appearance that you seem to have perfected. (Boy do I love those Quicksilver board shorts you wear to work!) I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’re not a really great surfer, but it’s cute that you try. Every time I show up to work, you regale me with stories about the “cool kids” you hang out with. You know the ones I mean. The Abercrombie-wearing, Jeep-driving cool kids. I’m not quite sure how you managed to breach their tightly-knit circle, as you don’t strike me as very bright, but you’ve done it nonetheless.
Coworker, I find you very attractive, much to my chagrin. And I use the term “chagrin” because I’m slightly embarrassed to be so attracted to such a hippy-poseur like yourself. You mostly wear vintage clothes, which surprises me. I half expect you to show up in an American Eagle graphic tee one of these days. You pretend to be liberal and progressive, but I’m confident that deep down, you’re not quite the hipster that you think you are. Yet you continue to charm me with your white trash accent and stupid sayings like “Yo, what’s your girlfriend’s hang up?”, or “My new haircut makes me look like such a square.” Hopefully, I’ll soon grow tired of such antics; hopefully you will cease to amuse me any longer. But till then, let’s continue to sit side by side in the lifeguard chair and stare awkwardly at each other.
Yours most sincerely,