Has this ever happened to you: I mean, since 7th grade?

• You spend weeks both anxiously and daydreamily anticipating seeing someone you so obviously have a crush on.
• You finally see the object of your crush, and immediately lose all of the most beloved aspects of your personality (intelligence, sense of humor, ability to participate in small talk, basic friendliness–and did I say intelligence?).
• You drink just a little too much wine at dinner since we all know how well alcohol works with loosening up one’s nervousness leading to the oh so wonderful thoughtless verbosity.
• You are 90% certain that said crush is well aware of your discomfort and though he gentlemanly tries to ease your pain, it only serves to make it worse.
• Either that, or he thinks you’re a ditz.
• You spend the evening back in the hotel room both berating yourself for being so stupidly crushed and thanking yourself for not acting out in an even more embarrassing manner while in one’s cups.
• You then blog about said crush hoping to exorcise it from your life, because, really, it’s irrational, immature, utterly unviable, and probably a sure sign of a perimenopausal return to adolescence.

But, I believe that is exactly the definition of a crush.