Valentine’s Day has come and gone a long time ago, and now we’re at the point where, hell, you may have just missed out on that free Zinneken's waffle. Or of course, you know, the chance to hit it off with the love of your life. Our ticket out of an interminable crawl to death alone littered away last Friday, when the date special ended, as well as the semi-socially acceptable excuse to ask someone out via email. Well, beans.

But then there are the shameless, like yours truly.

February 18, 2015

I sent an email with the subject line “Date for a Story?,” five days after V-Day, the release of our compatibility.

February 20, 2015

He responded to my email with a “let’s do it! whatever you wanna do (within reason) is cool w me.” Swooning from his daring omission of capital letters, I knew he was a keeper. But once he was kept, the painful realization that the critical window of our waffle-reliant romance was closing, and closing quickly, hit me over the head like Cupid with a bazooka.

February 21, 2015

Ran into him in the dining halls at 9 a.m., rockin’ the “Midterm Gremlin Who isn’t Gonna Leave the D-hall All Day” look. Cool.

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February 22, 2015

A date. Wut. Frazzled, I took a poll in Leverett dining hall. My friends and colleagues were equally perplexed about this “date” concept. I received the following suggestions for activities that could be constituted as a “date:”

Get a pedicure together!

Give each other haircuts!

ZUMBA!

Go hand fishing for catfish!!