Another old crush got married a few days ago. Well, it wasn't really a big deal. But when you're 34 and single, and your options are getting narrower and narrower, supposedly trivial events like this create a small dent on your otherwise flawless veneer of confidence. It's like a death of someone your age, when you are suddenly reminded of the brevity of your existence and you get to question your own life and your achievements and the purpose of your daily grind. Yeah, I'm diverging from a crush getting married to existentialist angst. That's how twisted I am right now. Twisted and crazy and confused and feeling like a fifteen year old. I think I'm having a brief reactive psychosis triggered by the marriage of an old crush. All because I've always thought he was fern. Fern? Fern has no stamen or pistil. Fern has spores. In layman's terms, fern is asexual. My asexual former crush is now married. And I'm shocked. I'm aghast. I'm crying. Boohoo. He wasn't a fern after all.
So my fern wasn't a fern. He just was a fern when he was with me. Well, he wasn't really with me, technically, which disqualifies me from being a total fern-magnet. But yeah, you know what I mean. He was a good fern, by the way.