My eyes went wide. No way, I thought. NO WAY! He did NOT just friend request me. I sunk into the passenger’s seat wondering if the salesman could see what was happening or if he noticed my giddiness… nope he was unaware.
This made for a whole different ball game. He’s SINGLE, I thought. Either that or he’s a really crappy boyfriend to some poor girl. Or worse yet, husband. No, he’s too nice. He’s single. And maybe ready to mingle?
I had to keep reminding myself. You’re moving home. You’re moving home. You don’t want to be living down here. You aren’t happy. Your friends and family are too far away. And nothing, not even a handsome, strong, gorgeous, rustic, blue-eyed farmer can change that. You don’t need to be getting involved with some Illinois farm boy. I tried my best to wipe him out of my mind but couldn’t stop myself from scrolling his profile on Facebook.
I scrolled through his photos, which took a whole thirty seconds because he didn’t have many. There were some photos of him hunting, partying with his friends, his pickup truck, his family, and tractors. And a few with some questionable younger ladies… was he taken? No….I hope not. Then, I re-scrolled them all. Facebook stalking is an art…and I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
I told myself to stop caring when I got back to my stale cigarette-smelling apartment, dreaming about how it would be one short month until I’d be heading home. I’d be living in my parent’s basement, which felt a little awkward for someone who had already moved out to be on her own. I scrolled listings on the daily for properties up north and planned how much I would need to save for a down payment. I had a great career, and it wouldn’t take many months of living at home before I’d have enough money to buy a place of my own.
A place where I could do whatever I wanted. I wouldn’t have to wash my clothes in the same laundry as everyone else, and pay in quarters to do so. Nothing would smell like stale cigarettes because there would be no smoking. I’d live by my own rules.
I’d daydream about what it would look like. A small cabin tucked into the hills of western Wisconsin, with a few acres I could go bowhunting on. It would be small, quaint, and cabinesque. Something that would match my current set of camouflage curtains, bedspread and whitetail dishware. Seriously, someone walking into my apartment would think a man lived there for sure. The decor I had would be much more suited for a hunting cabin in the woods than a drabby 2 bedroom apartment.
I was ready. It was happening. My life was moving on from this place and I was never looking back. I was ready for the next chapter.