That's fine. I guess I'll pay for the guacamole myself.

Dear Man Who Was Standing Behind Me in Line at Chipotle Last Night,

Some line, huh? I mean, it wasn't the longest line I've been in at Chipotle but it was a substantial wait. Long enough to make me worry a little that I would miss A Charlie Brown Christmas. That show always makes me want to hang garland and drink cider. Thankfully, Dancing With the Stars was on at 9 so I wasn't in too much of a panic (Side note #1: I'm not going to lie. I was a little disappointed that Helio won. I like him but I've been rooting for Mel B. all season because 1.) She was the best dancer, 2.) Her partner Maks is pretty nice to look at and by nice I mean WOW!!! and 3.) She's a Spice Girl which should automatically make her the obvious winner. But whatever.)(Side note #2: Have you seen Spice World? You should totally see it? It's awesome! But you should wait until after 10pm because it's one of those movies that is better when you're a little tired. And fast forward the part with the aliens. It's lame, which, obviously, is saying something.)

The line was also long enough for me to think on several occasions - if this man behind me gets any closer he had better offer to pay for my tacos. I should get guacamole, just in case. You were standing REALLY close to me. Let me demonstrate what I mean by REALLY: at one point I did a quarter turn to kind of give you a hint that you had breached my personal boundaries, and also to make sure that you weren't creepy looking (Fact: There is a difference between having your personal space invaded by a cute guy and having it invaded by a mouth breathing skeeve) and my shoulder brushed against your chest. That's REALLY close. And also kind of awkward.

Incidentally, you weren't creepy looking. You were actually kind of cute in a slightly aging rockabilly way, like you were at one time really into the Stray Cats and then decided to grow up and get a job at your uncle's morgage company, even though you still sometimes like to cuff the sleeves of a white t-shirt and put a cigarette in it when you’re puttering around the house. Your pompadour was a dead give away, and while it reminded me of the Fonze I’m going to have to knock you down for that. Although you get bonus points for wearing a very nice sweater. Cashmere? Had I been wearing shorter sleeves I wouldn't need to ask. But this is entirely beside the point, which is, even if you were Scary’s partner Maks, you were still standing too close. Because we’re strangers. We don’t know each other. I don’t even let my friends stand that close, as in close enough to feel your breath on my neck. Knights of Columbus!

By the time I got up to the counter I pretty much thought we were going steady. So did the workers because all the way down the line it was, “What can I get for you folks?” “Cheese for both of you?” “You guys want any chips?” Um, if me bumping into you wasn’t an indication that maybe you could back it up a little then that certainly should have been. But it wasn’t, because by the time we got up to the register the guy there said, “Alright, tacos and a burrito,” and when I said, “No, just the tacos,” he said, “So, your paying separately?”

Yeah, we sure are.

That’s fine if you want to be my Pretend Boyfriend (although you probably should have waited until you got a full look at me because believe me, I was not looking my best last night.) but the least you could have done was offer to get me a soda. You’re not the only one in this relationship, buddy. Oh, and if your interested and meet the qualifications (meaning generous, rich, and in contact with a good Slurpee machine vendor), the position of Wealthy Benefactor is still available. I noticed that you got the guacamole too.

Still a little uncomfortable about it,
Rachel