It is a universally acknowledged truth that any Brown gal of childbearing age must be in possession of a Ratty Crush. You know that stranger. The one that you’ve synced meal schedules with, like to the minute, and you can’t take your eyes off of when they* scrape their mangled leftovers into the trash in that certain way. Maybe they have your favorite book with them all the time, or share your love of making creative quesadillas on the Panini press. Or maybe they’re just cute (no judgement). You don’t know who they are, who their friends are, what they’re concentrating in (my guess comp lit), but you know you like them. And they’ve become such a fixture in the Ratty that if you catch them on the street or at the Blue Room you’re low-key shocked, like you’re watching a whale flop around on a tennis court, or a llama sweating next to you at the gym.
If you thought you were alone in this Ratty Crush phenomenon, think again. It’s perfectly normal (this is also the name of the kid-friendly book about sex your mom gave you when you were twelve so she could avoid having “the talk”)! There’s something so intriguing and magical about the unknown, which when it comes to Ratty Crush, is everything. Well, maybe they wear distinctive club-related clothing or labeled sportswear and you’ve become shameless enough to casually track them down super-sleuth style on Brown Bears, or god forbid, Facebook. But this is cutting it close – you’re flirting with disaster, my friend. There are a thousand billion trillion reasons why you should keep Ratty Crush and all your future children (Beth, Beatrice, and Ratty Crush Jr.) in your head, the most important being that they will never, ever live up to your crazy, stupid love expectations.
WHAT is that you say? You’re thinking of approaching this striking stranger?! First, stop being dumb. Second, take a look at the most likely outcomes of this great idea you have:
You approach head on and confident; you are woman, you are power. “Excuse me,” you say mysteriously. “What?” they answer between bites, mouth slightly agape like they’re trying to give the dead chicken inside some air. You should run away immediately in this scenario because this person is mean and you don’t need that.
Proceed to next scenario, where their face properly brightens to the level of a thousand dazzling suns as they notice you approaching. You strike up some banter under the pretention that you’re interested in the kind of coffee they’re drinking (it’s Ratty coffee) and you mention that you like how smooth and tangy the roast is and they laugh. Like a porpoise being stabbed. Or a porpoise choking on another porpoise being stabbed. You wonder how you never heard this from the other side of the room before, because it definitely would have helped temper the crush. But it’s not that bad, you think, you get past this- think of the children! You take a seat.
So now you not-so-casually integrate your shared favorite book into the convo. Turns out Ratty Crush bought it for a class they hated, and now just carries it around so they can rip out the pages and use them as napkins – not a fan of the texture of the crinkly brown ones. You hate them a little bit now for disgracing Junot Diaz, but hey, people have different tastes! Maybe you’re not ready to give up yet – but just wait!
Now some friends join the conversation, and it starts to steer towards physics and real life applications of Settlers of Catan: Star Trek Edition. You ask them if they did anything fun that week (besides Catan, of course), and they reply, “Night out with my girl” – and at this point you should be ready to resign yourself, but maybe you’re super determined and think you might be able to hold out for the long game because their current girl can’t possibly be as funny or favored by destiny as you are. And then they say- “And my boyfriend.” Yes I know, there are still options here, but if you’re not convinced to ditch this dream yet, then maybe it’s time to reevaluate your priorities.
Be content with ignorantly daydreaming about your Ratty Crush and your exotic honeymoon to the VDub together while safely separated by the omelet bar. That’s pretty much the sweetest end you could hope for.
*Ghastly grammar faux pas of using “they” instead of he/she is an intentional gender neutralizer and it will not stop!
Image created by Elizabeth Cox.