I knocked and entered the small-ish motel room with an exuberant “Good morning!” He was in the bathroom and called out that he’d be just a minute.

I laid belly-side down on the bed, holding my head up with my hands, and started to discuss what tourist-y things we were going to do that day. He crossed the room in front of me to get his shirt off the chair near the window and I looked slightly up to see …

George Clooney. Hot damn. In a crisp, white t-shirt and slacks. Looking stunning, like he always does, and with so little effort.

As he picked up the button-down shirt and put it on, he talked of how much he enjoyed my friendship, about appreciating that I expected nothing of him other than hanging out and having fun. He loved that I was just as into the weird, off-the-beaten-path tourist traps as he is, that no one in Hollywood would put up with our current room accommodations, etc.

Still waxing poetic on the strictly platonic nature of our relationship, he walked into the bathroom to finish his morning prep and I was suddenly overcome with jealousy that he’d never, ever want me “like that.”

I rolled a complete 360 degrees on the bed and, on my belly again, saw a pair of men’s pants on the floor. Assuming they were his, I thought for a split second about spitting on them. Instead, I burst out laughing and woke up with this thought:

I may be evil, but I’m not unreasonable.

I also awoke knowing – through my very core and without a single doubt – this particular lesson isn’t for me.

Not just yet, anyway.

All in due time, child.

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