You’re saving my life, Zooey (kinda).
When Zooey Deschanel ostensibly blew off Ryan Seacrest at this past year’s carpet of syndicated dreams, I realized how effective brevity can be in life. The best answer was always there, but I was too busy squinting at hashtags to notice.
You see, I’m preparing to ruin my safe, cozy friendship with someone I know quite well because of four words from a celebrity. I don’t even watch New Girl. But Zooey is awakening me, and I must break free from these chains of platonic oppression.
This is about becoming attracted to a friend? Yeah, none of this is original. Television, the very source guiding me to go full awkward, informs me about this friend/lover menagerie all the time on every show (Even 60 Minutes does a feature about this every other week. I think).
Anyway, the best truths are the most boring. The door of “extremely low-stakes risk” has finally creaked open in front of me. I’ve fallen for someone without having a disgusting thought about her for a good five seconds. I counted.
So, what now? I already have my reasons for breaking up a comfortable relationship, but my hand is still under the shower head waiting for the water to be just right. I certainly don’t want to pull a Milhouse by passing her ambiguous crib notes about my interest, complete with drawn on stink marks of her silhouette.
"Hi, being good friends is kinda cool and all, so I want to stop doing that over a picnic, hold hands, and maybe steal a few bases." This seems like the correct approach. Directness is supposed to go hand in hand with seizing the day, right?
On the other hand, I can always hope that her date went bad. I’m not sure.
Zooey hasn’t told me what to do next.