Mission Crush.

So I've got a bit of a crush.

It's not a sexual crush. Thinking about having sex with Paul makes me a tad ill, but I most definitely own some sort of puppy love for the manager of store 3649.

I suppose it parallels a seventh graders infatuation with their English teacher. Or perhaps the Little Mermaid's googly eyed glance when she laid her baby blues on Prince Eric for the first time. It's all too surreal, all too funny and all too heart-fluttery sickening.

When I see him, I smile. When he talks to me we flirt. When his dry sense of humour bounces around the wall of his office, I become wet. He makes me jell-o.

So I've decided to confront my innocent love with a note. It will say:

Paul,

I sincerely regret having to leave store 3649 because I have a gigantic crush on you and I have no idea why.

Your,
Annoying Night Stocker

This confession will be given to him with a coffee cake, two weeks after I officially leave my job. I figure the least amount of awkwardness would be appreciated for everyone and this way, if he thinks I'm a complete nut job, I'll never have to see him again.

Aw, diddums.