You know the feeling. You glance furtively in all directions as you walk from class to class, paranoid that he is traveling the very same path. You check your cell phone, wondering if that "unknown" number with a 434 area code is his.
You try to hold yourself together, exuding the most confident and self-assured air you can muster, while internally you are freaking out about the inevitable encounter.
He's the hook up from last weekend -- the guy you never even considered until 11 p.m. last Friday on the steps of his frat. Sure enough, though, one hook up and you become obsessive as to his whereabouts.
To make things worse, fate ridicules you in this time of self-torment. The encounter -- when it does finally happen (was there any doubt that it wouldn't?) -- is awkward -- the kind of awkwardness that can be achieved only when you are desperately trying not to be awkward.
And in the rush of relief that you feel when it's over, it begs the question, why do hook ups send us reeling and let the guy off the hook?
When I first arrived at the University, the idea of hooking up -- the purely carnal, emotionally devoid tête-à-tête so well known to this generation -- was a new concept to me. I had been in a few long-term relationships in high school and had never kissed a guy I wasn't dating except on New Year's Eve. But it only took a few weeks to realize the governing code of the University: a) "dating" (in the conventional, "Can I take you out for dinner?" connotation) is not a term in the typical Wahoo man's vocabulary, and b) if I want to hook up (meaning anything from kiss to