But it's burrowing in my head. We're cute, we're available, we should date.

She's smart, I can tell. And I could actually get to her house in under 20 minutes, if she goes to Central. All pluses here. And floating about in my head as well is my brother's maxim "Brookfield girls are easy."

The next few days are kind of maddening. I realize her last name's Flockhart. My dad has a colleague named Dr. Flockhart. ENT. Cool guy. Hey, family connection. What could be better? I surreptitiously ask my family if they recall a Calista Flockhart. My dad draws a blank on his friend's family members (but hey, he sometimes calls me the wrong name so it's not too bad). But then he says, "Oh, wait, if she's the other Dr. Flockhart's daughter... Stay away, Kip. Trust me."

Meanwhile, I'm badgering Joel. I get her number. I dial six digits a lot, but can't seem to finish the damn number. I finally get the wuss hat off my head and dial. I get 7 rings and then a beep. Is it a machine? I don't know. It could be a Faxmaster 2000 for all I know. I keep trying at one-hour intervals. I'm batshit insane. You see, I've got it all planned in my head. Coffee, a wonderful monogamous relationship until college and then who knows. But coffee must come first.