the men in my life

Ha! Got your attention with that, didn't I? As if I have anything to tell. As if I even would tell. Actually, one of my friends has lately been complaining how I tend to tell all my friends everything. I just don't like secrets. Call it a character flaw, I will claim it as an asset.

The loudest men in my life are the athletes who live in the house next door to the apartment complex I live in. Their activities are comprised of swilling around beer, watching sports on TV, making a lot of noise, and yelling at their hapless dog ("Lucy! Lucy! NO, LUCY!!"). I loathe them so.

But Valentine's Day is dancing its way into my periphery, and last week when I called home to tell my parents about what's up with the future, the father was hopeful that it was Good News.

        Denise: Can you get the upstairs phone so I can talk to you and Mom at the same time? I have good news.
        Dad: What? What news is this??
        Denise: It's good news.
        Dad: ...is it--?
        Denise: I don't have a boyfriend.
        Dad: There is no good news besides that! I don't want to talk anymore. I'm going to hang up.

Poor Dad.

But. I do want to share this near-perfect poem with the (cyber)world, or at least bring it to your attention.

The Look, Sara Teasdale

Strephon kissed me in the spring, Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me And never kissed at all. Strephon's kiss was lost in jest Robin's lost in play, But the kiss in Colin's eyes Haunts me night and day.

"The kiss in Colin's eyes." Isn't that a stunningstunningstunning line? I'll tell you a secret. A little while ago a boy with steady, devastating eyes leveled them at me and I was sort of struck dumb. I have never been so affected by a pair of eyes (now I know how Mr. Darcy felt?). I don't know if that boy looks at me with a  kiss in his eyes, but his eyes haunt me nonetheless.