My legs drive him wild with desire. It’s ridiculous, because we’ve known each other way too long for my legs to be something that go all the way up to here, but here they are, legs, going all the way up. Here. I feel like a cartoon. I feel like a plastic doll designed to illustrate limerence to anatomy students. My butt, in these shorts, is too damn cute. It warrants a second look, so I take a second look, and send him a message saying “my butt is thinking of you”. The message is a folded paper airplane with psychic intentions. I am telling the truth when I say my butt is thinking of him, but not the whole truth, which is that my butt won’t stop entertaining thoughts of a wooden ruler going thwack. Put that in your paper airplane and fly it. My legs and my butt— so full of their own thoughts in this situation. So needy for attention. I hang a full length mirror in this hallway and twist myself back and forth. “Hey there good looking,” I say to the girl in the mirror, and she shows me her butt, and it looks great. I bet she shows it to all the girls, but still. Everything is fine, damn fine.