"You can keep driving all night if you want to, but I live right there."

What I said to the 21-year-old from work, when he was taking me home last night and missed the turn-off from Lamar. I asked him for a ride for no other reason than that we were leaving at the same time. I didn't need a ride; I walk to and from work every single day. I told him I was extra tired and didn't feel like walking.

I ribbed him for driving a big ole pick-em-up truck. "Well it's not...that big," he said. I told him I had imagined him driving a beat up old 4-door sedan. I like how I'm in second grade, and when I have a crush on someone and don't know how to relate to them, I just make fun of them, about needing a haircut, or the big truck they drive.

Last night I tried to find ways of justifying dating someone almost an entire decade younger than me, which would not only be depressing, but also kind of embarassing. Even if he is beautiful. And a co-worker. And sexually ambiguous.

I found out his last name, but he's not on MySpace. He is on Facebook, but his profile's locked unless you're one of his "friends." Damn it. I hate people who like their privacy.