In the ninth grade, we played flag football in p.e. in Central Park. On the first day out, while I was lobbing beautiful, high-arcing 40-yard spirals, the loveliest girl in school said to me, "the ball is so pretty when you throw it."

Be still, heart. My first thought was to respond, "Not as pretty as you." But I didn't think I could pull it off. So instead, I said the somewhat less flattering, "No it's not," and mumbled something about "pretty" being way too girly to describe the magnificent spirals I was launching.

So when an even lovelier lass recently paid a similar compliment I had to go with the line I couldn't pull off, which was, of course, bad in its own stilted, smarmy way.
  ¶ 11:14 PM