Tobin's Not My Boyfriend

You heard it here first. Unless you were seated at one of the adjacent tables at Cubby's this evening. Tobin is not my boyfriend. Although it is an amusing and entertaining thought. Granted, he was my pretend boyfriend for a while, but that really doesn't count. The first time I met Tobin was twelve years ago. In my bedroom. He was there with his father. Is this a dirty mind test? They were there installing carpeting. His dad called him "Tobe". I wondered if he'd had that five o'clock shadow since kindergarden. Then I didn't see him again until he became a co-worker two and a half years ago. He's funny. And smart. And handsome. I like him. He's also in that gray age area where he could possibly be my son if I'd jumped on the mothership while I was still in high school. As a co-worker and a smoker, he had two dealbreakers against him from the very beginning. At least as far as actually becoming my boyfriend. Last month he left the seed lab for a wonderful job opportunity. So currently he has just one dealbreaker holding up his possible advancement into the boyfriend arena, he still smokes. So there's this guy I used to work with who I met for the first time in my bedroom twelve years ago. He's funny, handsome and smart. And we've tossed so much bullshit back and forth at one another over the last two years that I'm not entirely certain that we could ever have a serious conversation with each other about what we are to each other. Or if there are future possibilities for something more. He's not my boyfriend. But he is my friend. And a terrific kisser. And that's all I have to say about that.