Margit's Note
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Margit’s Note: An Affair to Remember

tuenight fling

A fling means nothing. A dare. A tossed-away kiss. A happy mess you got yourself into. Temporary and mindless.

It’s just a fling, after all.

In the very last year of the 1980s, right after college was over, I had a purposeful fling — an oxymoron, but so it was. C and I stuck around State College. He waited tables at Ye Olde College Diner (that’s really the name); I worked at the college paper and the local department store — and we had no idea what we were going to do for the rest of our lives. We were both in the mood for temporary. Somehow we knew we weren’t made for each other, but a fling is a chance to be someone else. What a delight! Several mix tapes, deep kisses, boozy nights at Zeno’s and a month-long bout of mono later…

A fling is exciting until it’s not exciting. And then, yikes.

But even if the result of a fling is feeling a little too flung, the lasting memories  — and at the very least, the stories — may be worth the result. ‘Tis better to have flung and lost than to have never flung at all…er, yeah.

This week, enjoy our series of little affairs:

Smooches,

Margit

(Photo: Stocksy.com)

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