A Love Story Gone Bad.

I fell in love with a bank teller once, or maybe that’s not the title, because he worked in an office of his own.

It felt like I walked into our first date. We shook hands, made direct eye contact the whole session, but where were the flowers? What’s your name again?

He asked too many questions about hobbies and dreams I had. Is this the norm of bankers? Was he really into my Audrey Hepburn graphic tee tucked into my patterned blue hi low skirt? Maybe it was the way my hair fell, that he had to know more about me.

Were we flirting or were  you give me your sales pitch?

Google defines flirting: “behave as though attracted to or trying to attract someone, but for amusement rather than with serious intentions.”

Did it bother you that I didn’t have a credit card and knew nothing about credit? How many questions did I ask? I wasn’t trying to be cute, those were all very genuine and thoughtful questions regarding credit.

After picking out my Georgia Bull Dawg Debit Card, he asked me, “What else do you like?” I’m assuming he meant besides the Dawgs.

This question should always be easy, but any time someone asks, I forget what I like. After the longest 5 seconds of silence in my life, I answer, “I also like the Jaguars…. and writing… I have a blog… Word Vomit”

When is there a time to brag about yourself? Maybe during TED applications, that’s when, but not here, not to this bank teller.¬†How old are you?

What once was love, now felt like hate and mockery.

Well I got news for you, bow man.

It’s weird you lived in Athens, and you’re a Florida Gator fan.

Your bow tie was strange, but you were cute.

So maybe it wasn’t love, maybe it was just too weird of a instance not to notice.

Looking back, I mean, if he asked me out, I would say yes.