the chase

I live on the third floor of my apartment complex.

On three different occasions boys have run panting up the stairs to catch their dates before they locked themselves into the house.

The first time it was funny.
My roommates had gone to FHE and I stayed home, playing around on my guitar (don't blame me for not wanting to go hang with crazies). They came in after a bit, and separated: some to the kitchen, and a few to their rooms. The door had barely swung shut when there was a pounding at the door.

I got up to answer it.

On the landing, bent over panting from running after my roommates, was a dorky, hair-parted-on-the-side boy.

"Hi," he gasped. "is Joanne here?"
"One sec," I say and then yell, "JOANNE!"

She comes out, and they stand by the door. I go back to the couch, am quietly playing the guitar, while another two girls are talking in the kitchen.

Joanne has been cornered.
"You left FHE so quickly!" He's panting.
Joanne smiles.
"I just wanted to" gasp "ask you on a date for" gasp "this upcoming weekend."

Joanne shoots all of us looks, begging for help, but there is nothing we can do for her. She's at the head of the chase.

Of course, karma made sure that my mocking made me the next victim.
After an awkward double date, we pulled up in front of my apartment. The two of us were in the backseat.
"Well, this was fun," I say, opening my car door. "Talk to you later." I get out and speed walk to the stairs, and am up the second flight when I hear a pounding behind me.

I am literally being chased up the stairs.

That time it was me standing cornered while a panting boy tried to win affections.

The third time was no less horrible.
But there is not need to describe the torture again.

Let me take a moment to say: if a girl is running (literally or metaphorically), STOP CHASING HER.

Maybe some girls like to lead boys on.
But if you have any sense whatsoever, then you know: those are the girls to stay away from.

porthos