Her name is Romana, and in my mind, she is perfect. I met her on the bus a couple of weeks ago, but something—someone—stands in between me and the perfect girl. In my mind, her status as a Viennese exchange student makes her the ultimate woman, and her status as a total hottie doesn’t hurt anything, either. I’m listening to Colourmusic’s EP , the song aptly entitled "Gospel Song," although the song itself sounds more like Jet‘s “Are You Gonna Be My Girl?” than it does “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy” or “Oh, Happy Days.” I bought the album on iTunes on a whim after I was introduced to the band two minutes beforehand for an article I am writing. I listen to the song on repeat, over and over again, and I will continue to do so until my ears burn and my head explodes from the repetition, which could be within the next 2 minutes and 43 seconds.Everything seems to be in place in my life, specifically the appeal of Romana and the music to which I am listening. I have never spoken to Romana. I have been too chicken to approach her. I am a coward.“Romana, huh?” I could say. “That’s like the lettuce, right? Romaine? Do you like eating lettuce—salads, I mean—do you like eating salads? I like eating salads. My mother always referred to them as roughage, but that’s because she’s from Iowa and things in Iowa are always rough. What I’m really trying to say is that I was wondering if you might like to go out for a salad sometime—or anything else—because I would love to if it would be OK with you.”At this point I have wet my pants approximately three times, and have envisioned how my girlfriend is going to kill me in 326 separate and gruesome ways, many of which include long and painful suffering prior to death.I suppose that you would like to know what Romana the Viennese exchange student looks like.Well, she’s a blonde … with curly hair, although she would be even more beautiful if she had straight hair. I’m not quite sure whether she is naturally curly or naturally straight, but I’m quite convinced that I would have this massive crush on her either way. She dresses sexy, although most of that is probably just the obvious inclination to attractive style that comes to European girls naturally, meaning that the sexiness is not intended, which is important because that gives her even more appeal—an appeal to her innocence. She walks with those springy steps that most guys tend to freeze-frame in their minds, and then try to replicate, to no avail, the rush of energy and the quickening of their heart rate they felt in the real-life experience.I do not know how old Romana is. I do not know her last name. I know she is an intern, like me, but I have no idea what kind she is or where she works. I do not sit near her. I am at the back of the bus, ferociously typing away on my laptop; she is at the front, unaware of what my fingers are saying. I do not go near her because she has befriended Susan, whose incessant yapping is annoying and gives me a headache. And for now, this is reason enough not to talk to the perfect girl.
The Intern: Viii
The Crush Files
4 min read
