salivating

"you were salivating." the best friend said as we took a bus home. it was 6pm, a time incapable of breathing as our bodies and that of strangers amalgamated into one very constricted tin of sardines.

i was sweating profusely, nearly fainting from the lack of proper ventilation. "what?" i had managed to reply, albeit weakly.

"nugget," he said carelessly. "you were salivating over nugget like a damn fountain in a damn river."

nugget? nugget? nugget? - my brain not at its best state of mind at grasping information at the moment.

and then...

NUGGET!

oh nugget, nugget, nugget.

i turned my head to glare at the best friend (a minimal effect, considering how terribly constricted we were).

the spotlights came on, illuminating the both of us as the background of the terribly constricted bus faded into the shadows. it was now just he and i.

this was war.

"i did not salivate." i said adamantly, jabbing my finger at his pseudo-abs.

"yes, you did. like a british bulldog, i might add." he brayed wildly. "i mean honestly. he was just nugget."

"he was not just nugget. he's not like any old nugget. he's nugget. THE nugget."



he brayed again. "look squiggies, it's unhealthy to rekindle old flames."

"i'm not rekindling anything! besides, we never really started in the first place so it isn't called rekindling." i sighed. "did you see his tan? it was the tan's fault."

"ha!" he announced triumphantly. "so you did salivate! over his tan, no less."

"i don't do salivating," i replied snobbishly. "i merely swooned."

"it was four years ago, sweetie. let it gooooooooooooooooo." (the bus had took a patricularly steep curve just then.)

"i can't. he was all i could think about all day." smiling stupidly, i allowed myself a little nugget thought.

"you're thinking about him again." the best friend commented wryly. "stop it, it makes you look stupid."

men, they never understand women. they never do.

take for example, you sign on to msn just 15 minutes after he logged on (you counted the minutes, because all the while you were appearing offline), hoping he'll initiate a conversation but heck, he doesn't. you begin to wildly wonder if he's talking to other women. then after an hour of obsessing, you realise this is stupid. but you'll do it again anyway.

and then what about text messaging? he initiates a text for the first time and you go wild, thinking it must be loooove. so you texted him back. and being polite, he texts you back. and playing hard to get (and also unsure of what to say because you don't want to appear stupid), you don't text him back, all the while hoping he'll text you back. but he doesn't.

men.

and their stupidities.

okay, the argument probably sounds more valid if it was: women and their stupidities.

so be it.

i hate nugget anyway. it it weren't for his tan, i wouldn't be salivating after him. no sireeee! i wouldn't. i didn't just spend the last four years trying (and failing) to forget about him.

"yeah you did," interjected the best friend.

stop listening to my thoughts, you stupid bastard.

we never began, but i think i never let go either.

this is really unhealthy.

The Best Friend who's male.

the other day, we (meaning people you don't really care) were heading towards the campus' only decent food joint for late lunch, when one of my girlies suddenly pipped up that she hated me.

i wasn't sure if she meant it as a tease or something. but i decided it was, because normal people just don't say these sorta things to your mates. so instead, i asked her why she hated me.

"well," she had said, her eyes casting me an apprehensive glance, as if caring whether i minded what she was going to say. because if she cared, she wouldn't have said whatever she was going to say if she actually bothered to cast me an apprehensive glance (complicated, i know).

"your best friend's a guy," she concluded simply. like that was enough reason to hate me. women - they bitch fit about anything.

"i'm just so jealous!" she continued, animatedly. "i wished my best friend was a guy." i glanced over at her best friend who wasn't a guy. i could tell she looked a bit despondent.

in the women-y world, there's a mantra that says you should hate the girl who has a male best friend. because to the other girls, it was like having a constant boyfriend who's not a bastard.

and boy, that is the single most scarce/sought after thing in the world next to fuel supply.

as such, they would look at you with such evilness in the eye that you would beg to be looked at by the snow queen. i happened to let slip that my bff was a laddie during one particular too much red bull afternoon. big mistake, that was. the woman now looks at me with such distaste, it's a wonder we could complete luncheon together.

but there are the disadvantages to having a male bff, i told her. unless he's truly into shopping, he's just better off staying at home. the best friend ended up sleeping in the women's wear department the other time we went out shopping. and then i couldn't possibly tell him about women-ly issues. well, i do... but it's never to the extent if i were to tell a female for example.

she huffed, like those were all very trivial. "he's nice to you. and at the very least, he's still a decent hot-blooded male."

well, yes. i do suppose she's right. ♥