Q. Did we talk? A. Yes, but not for very long.
Q. Did he kiss me? A. No. But we kissed.
Q. Did it go any further? Am I going to tell the dirty details? A. Neither. He was full of dirty details, he suddenly turned very verbal and descriptive, expectant. Had he not said it out loud, we might have done the things he said out loud. In a private spot but still in public, his heavy kegger breath in my ear, leaning in, clammy hands up my shirt groping - it was classless; even with my then nondiscriminatory policies, it felt icky, and I shrugged him away. When would I discover he was a T.A. for Philosophy? A. The day after I declared it as my major.
On the contrary, I found that the collected works of Kant were essential when the power company cut off my heat and I had to build a bonfire in the middle of the kitchen floor.
(I'm a philosophy major, folks. I'm at liberty to make disparaging remarks).
Besides, all you really need to stay warm at night is a sleeping bag and someone willing to share it with you.
Nothing makes you colder than giving up your passion; there are no creature comforts that can remedy this sense of loss.
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