For: infatuation (or, not)

I went to the temple today, and Tyrell, my cousin, accompanied me. I had prayed and prayed all morning that it wouldn't bee too slow, for I needed to go somewhere within two and a half hours of getting in the temple. It was quick, the first time in two months. Heavenly Father really, really, truly, answers prayers.

One of the men who works at the temple on my temple day is a very attractive man. He is just taller than I, with a face like Edward Norton and curly blonde hair. He has the deepest voice and a thick ol' western drawl.He is always done baptizing by the time I get to the font, so I have to glance at him while he sits in the witness chair. I call him Templeguy, because I don't know his name, and have had an ongoing crush on him for two months now.

I'm really good at making doe eyes at him, flirt and glance, bat the lashes, grin and blush. I'm good at those. But I don't know his name, and I've never really talked to him. When I'm around him, I feel like the jumpsuit looks like this on me.

But really, I probably look just as shapeless and white as everyone.

Today was a good day: I knew it would be when I walked to work and my face didn't freeze off my head. Templeguy baptized me. I'm pretty sure I'm in love:infatuation, love, love, infatuation. Difference much? I think not. Tyrell teases me that it was when I hear his accent softly spoken. Nope. It was when I loosened my grip (I always hold on wayyyy too tight) and then he moved his hand gently on my wrist... so lovely. I realize that I'm acting like a thirteen-year-old. But oh my gosh, this boy fills my head and chest cavity.

What if he's married? He doesn't wear a ring, but that's nothing. What can I do? Nothing: I can do nothing, except bite, and I mean bite, the bitterness, and move on. This is when faith is hard, because these feelings, however temporary or shallow, consume me and turn my thoughts like a heavy hand on the reins would a horse's head. I'll get over it. I tell myself that all of these numbers I get from guys are just practice for the right man.

The other day, I had the thought, "I bet my future husband misses and yearns for me just as much as I miss him. I bet he is working hard like I am." I'd rather think that then think that he is some twenty seven year old man-child who won't stop playing, not even to save (improve) his own life.