Random Thoughts On... boyholism

One of the things that makes me wish I went to Melb Uni (mind you, I haven't checked out Monash's campus) is the availability of on-campus food. The many eateries on the Melb Uni campus wow-ed me because not only did it satisfy me gastronomically but also economically. I could spend less than $7 for a decent lunch! Instead, if I wandered to Adelaide Uni's Mayo, I could purchase a 'large' serving of either pasta or a curry (which, I should note, has made me frequent the second floor of the Law Building quite often) for $7.20. So like any (lazy) Uni student who didn't bring a packed lunch , I trundle over to Rundle St. (yes, I hope you noticed that sneaky usage of rhyme) for a comparatively expensive lunch fare.

It was on one of these food-foraging expeditions that I happened to be crossing North Terrace, the street that separates Adelaide Uni to the rest of the city. As a healthy girl, fresh from the gender-homogenous confines of an all-girls high school, I kept my eyes peeled for eye candy. Lo and behold! I wasn't disappointed. Coming towards me was a handsome guy with brunette hair fluffed in the cool winter wind. As my eyes appreciatively (but efficiently) violated this blissfully ignorant boy, I realised something that made my face look somewhat like this:

(thanks to Marshall Vandruff, whoever you may be)

I'm a boyholic.

I'm addicted to ravishing the silhouettes and selves of the various specimens of the opposite sex. You can be assured that if a member of the opposing gender were talking to me, in the first three seconds of the conversation I would have assessed

a) his legs

b) his nose

c) presence of body hair

d) height

e) everything else

I blame my habit on the lost years of high school when I should have exercised raging hormones to their fullest extent. But no matter, those years will never come again and I still possess this grave affliction.

The good news is that I have found a rather successful solution. Said solution comes in the form of being immersed in my Biology and Chemistry classes. In a week, I would have almost 9 hours of contact with Zelda-talking, ponytailed and scrawny guys. Because of them, my aesthetic appreciation of the other half of our race has dwindled and now, most males may be safe from my once avaricious and rapacious gaze.

(Please note, not all Science male students fit the aforementioned stereotype. In fact, there are quite a few blonde and Ralph Lauren model-esque guys in my lectures of whom, I should note, are not safe from my oggling)

And then they all lived happily ever after.

(or so they think)