I’ve recently become obsessed with my crush, let’s call him Joe. We’ve met a couple of times at The Vic and since then I just can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to bump into him. So desperate am I to see him around, I’ve begun engineering situations where a ‘chance encounter’ could happen. I know his favourite pub is Aikmans, so I’ve started making as many trips down Bell Street as is humanly possible in the hope that he’ll be standing outside, cigarette in hand. Now that I’ve written it down, it sounds a lot creepier than it actually is — so how do I stop?
Oh dear! It’s a classic conundrum. It starts at the library, you lock eyes over your copies of To The Lighthouse and think wow, that hair’s pretty damn sexy (and he’s a feminist!). Three days later, you’ve discovered you’ve both got a love for the Arctic Monkeys (god, English Lit and ‘indie’ music? What an original combination) and you convince yourself you’ve met your future husband. Before you know it, as is St Andrews’ nature, it feels like you can’t escape him. It quickly progresses from an awkward nod at the Tesco self-checkout to an unanswered ‘Hey! How’s it going?’ as you cross the street in front of Buchanan.
The way I see it, you’ve got two options here: be bold and make the first move, or allow yourself to be a wallflower and never progress beyond your orchestrated meetings. Let’s be honest, Betty, while you might be able to do better, he probably can’t. Your interpretation of beautiful locks, sunkissed skin and piercing eyes is probably a bit off. We live in Scotland after all, everyone’s got a Vitamin D deficiency. He’s also probably a bit shy — going to a single-sex school never did teach anyone how to flirt. So a text saying, ‘Fancy a pint?’ will almost definitely be welcomed. And anyway, what’s the harm? He doesn’t know you’re obsessed with him, he’ll think you’re just being friendly, and no one ever got a restraining order for that. Betty, you’ve stalked the stalk, it’s time to walk the walk (anywhere but Bell Street, please).
Be warned, this is what’ll happen if you continue on your chosen path — and it’s pretty bleak from where I’m standing (hint: it’s not outside Aikmans). Your friends (and his) aren’t stupid — no one genuinely thinks Aikmans is that cheap and you must be running out of excuses by now. The second someone puts two and two together, the game is up — even if he’s oblivious, his mate Matt will point out that you are around an awful lot. Coincidences happen, but not that regularly, even in St Andrews. And we all know how much boys love throwing the word ‘psycho’ around — you don’t want to be known as Betty Bundy by his pals, do you?
Stay safe out there Betty, and please, for the love of God, take a detour next time — Sallie’s not a solicitor (and daddy’s law firm wouldn’t help you anyway).
All my love,