In which I am elegantly discreet

So, this crush. It's not really a crush, so much as an attraction. Is that the same thing?

Disclaimer: I don't want a boyfriend (listen very carefully and you will hear the male population of London shedding a small tear [possibly of relief but we'll bypass that]).

My last boyfriend was a poor example of the genre, or a perfect example, depending upon how cynical you're feeling.
Two weeks after he dumped me over the phone (which was marginally better than when he dumped me the time before that, which was, to all intents and purposes, in a text message) he got together with a girl I had considered to be quite a close friend. They are still together. The problem I had with it was simply that neither of them saw fit to let me know.
Er, THANKS GUYS.
I haven't mentioned this before now because I was more than a little humiliated by the whole affair, and also because I felt like, oh shit what if they were to READ this and then they'd KNOW how I FELT and, that would be like admitting FAILURE... but then, I can reason to myself, they must know that they hurt me by ignoring my existence. And chances are they are not going to read this. So why shouldn't I write about it?

That last bit was a bit rambling, I grant you. But you get the gist of the thing. Not the worst betrayal in the world, not by a long shot. I wanted out of the relationship anyway, and could have accepted their glorious union (odd turn of phrase there) if they'd been a bit more open to me about it. But it did rather put me off men for a while.

But now? Well, still not looking for a boyfriend (although, Zach? Mr Braff? If you're there? This excludes you. You I would certainly make an exception for. Love me!) but I am beginning to take small inching steps towards being interested in men again. I am also thinking that maybe there might be some fool out there that might be interested in me.

Just a little bit. (Blushes in a coy, demure, Jane Austen-like manner)

So this crush? It's not really a crush, so much as a vague feeling about someone. Someone who, I think, doesn't really have that much of an interest in me. Or maybe he does. I don't know.
HOW ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO KNOW?
And don't say 'ask', or 'be up front' because that can only happen with people who are much cooler than I am, and no doubt better dressed. By which I mean Samantha from Sex in the City, obviously. And anyway I don't want to ask, because I don't want to be his girlfriend. No. Maybe I'm just reverting back to my Old Ways.

I know this hasn't been very descriptive. Maybe you wanted to know details? Sorry, I cannot, I am WAY too shy. He is sexy and funny, and I am happy to go on having a crush on him without getting anything out of it, because I am alright by myself. In fact, I am better than that. I like being on my own and independent, marching around my city on whatever whim takes me, not a care in the world.

The fact that it's going to be sunny and in the mid-twenties this week, however, might pose a problem. I know that for some people this would be deemed as hat-scarf-and-mittens-on-elastic-through-your-anorak wintry. But for me and for the rest of London it is sleeveless-tops-pints-on-the-pavement-doing-a-conga-in-sombreros summery.

And I fear that it might not bode so well, considering the effect that has on me.

(That noise you just heard? That was the male population of London locking their doors, bolting their windows, and fastening their chastity belts.)