Leaving us with Eric is like hiring a babysitter who spends his time sharpening knives.
There’s always that one guy who gets a hold on you. Not like your best friend’s brother who gets you in a headlock kind of hold. Or the little kid you’re babysitting who attaches himself to your leg kind of hold. I’m talking epic. Life changing. The “can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do your homework, can’t stop giggling, can’t remember anything but his smile†kind of hold. Like, Wesley and Buttercup proportions. Harry and Sally. Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. The kind of hold in all your favorite ’80s songs, like the “Must Have Been Loveâ€s, the “Take My Breath Awayâ€s, the “Eternal Flameâ€s—the ones you sing into a hairbrush-microphone at the top of your lungs with your best friends on a Saturday night.
I’m stuck babysitting turtle eggs while a volleyball player slash grease monkey slash aquarium volunteer tries to hit on me.†I’m not hitting on you,†he protested. No?†Believe me, you’d know if I was hitting on you. You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from succumbing to my charms.