Dear Diary,

Going on day thirty-something of current crush and my prey seems to be moving with the speed of a Special Olympics hurdler. You’d think the slow pace would make it easier to pin my target, but no, instead it only serves as a form of torture that I thought they ruled as inhumane back in the Middle Ages. So in a land where I needed an actual translation for “taking things slow,” I found myself in a foreign territory where no amount of transliteration could explain the phrase. You may be thinking, ‘perhaps he’s just not that into you?’ I thought the same until evidence to the contrary had me enrolling in dating 101 faster than the new McLaren goes from 0-60. I feel like a rogue pinball bumping into obstacle after obstacle just trying not to lose. I’m holding steady (as she goes), tiptoeing around the flirtatious comments and wishful sexting, using all the strategy and concentration required for a drunken game of Jenga. The thrill of the chase is exciting, but the actual ability to entangle your prey in a web of ‘happily ever after’ is even more alluring. I guess the ‘happily ever after’ only works if the ‘once upon a time’ has an actual story to go with it though. Snow White bit the apple, and the bite was worth the price, so here’s to wishing, waiting, and hoping that the poison is worth it…