There was a teenage boy on the bus who was one of the most beautiful boys I have ever had the good fortune to lay my eyes upon.
He was blond, about seventeen, clear skin, chiseled jaw, face long and thin, but not strangely so.
And just in case you're wondering let me be perfectly clear. He wasn't just bus pretty. He was real-life pretty.
He was so handsome that I was too afraid to look at him too long in case he disappeared in a puff of smoke and was replaced with someone uglier who'd just caught the light at the right angle for a second.
My schoolboy fantasies were interrupted when someone in the seat behind me poked me repeatedly in the shoulder. I turned around to see who'd broken the sacred code of community travel - keep your hands, and any other body parts, to yourself - and a man in the seat behind me made a vague gesture towards the button next to him.
I intuited this to mean, could you push your button for me because mine isn't working, which I courteously did. I then turned surreptitiously to my other side to see why he couldn't follow the normal path and ask the person next to him to push theirs. It was a teenage girl. Nuff said.
Unfortunately, when I turned to look forward again the perfect face was gone. There was no chance of seeing him step off the bus either as it was crowded full of teenagers down the middle aisle; all standing and obstructing my view.
Not that I was planning on doing anything creepy like keep him in eye-shot until he turned into a driveway, and then write down the address.
I am not that sort of girl. Not any more. There was a period there, but it was a long time ago and I really wish you wouldn't keep bringing it up.
Now I'm just debating a few things about the ride home tomorrow. Do I leave work on time and catch the early bus home, or do I leave twenty minutes late in the hope of seeing him again?
Just kidding. It's Friday. I'm leaving on the dot. Besides, if I wanted to drool over pretty boys there's always the internet.
Hmmmmm. I wonder if he's on the internet?