Something happened to me at MacDowell. Something unexpected and troubling. I developed crushes on white men. Really white men. White as mayo. There was one composer in his 30s who had me dreaming naughty things. His name began with the letter "D." He wore glasses. Let me repeat: he wore glasses. Not hipster glasses. No. He wore I-am-a-high-school-history-teacher glasses. He was Irish Catholic. Hey, that's almost Mexican! But he was sweet. He had a nice smile. I really liked the chest hair that poked out from the top of his shirts. I really had a thing for him. Each time I saw him I giggled. Okay, did I just type that? Wow. Hard times. Unfortunately, he was married. To a woman. How quaint!
The other colonists made fun of my crush. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Sean. And Emily. And Paula. And Mark. But I couldn't help it. There was something about him that made my heart skip a beat, that made my panties bunch up. I just had a terrible thought. What if he's reading this? Maybe I should delete this post? Naw. My crush was harmless. I don't think he even noticed. I'm subtle. Like like an earthquake. OMG! He might be reading this! I'm going to end this post right here.