Sometimes, I'll develop a secret crush on an acquaintance of mine. I'll be hanging out with her, talking to her, thinking, Goddamn it, this chick is the best. She's amusingly awkward, sexy like a librarian, so incredibly creative. The two of us could be the quirky analogue of a power coup...
Then I'll notice that she, herself, is giving me a quizzical look. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she wants to know. Before I can muster an alibi for my gaze, I'll remember, Shit. I forgot that my eyes are a bunch of little snitches.
I was trying to keep this little affection on the down-low, but these rats took it upon themselves to become informants, yelling, “He likes you! He likes you!! We also greatly enjoy relaying processing the image of your face!”
You better watch yourself, eyes. Because snitches get stitches. Betray me again and I will sew you shut.