The Wingman

For those of you who know me well, you are painfully aware of my complete inability to flirt, smooth-talk, or even articulate around men I am attracted to. Honestly, I think it's some kind of disease that the world should be more aware of. In my case, I'm fairly certain it's terminal. Anyways, this random tangent is not the point of my post. The topic of this evening: the vital role of a wingman. If you've ever seen Top Gun, you know how important Goose is. Without Goose, Maverick would be nothing. Well in the world of dating, I happen to be Goose. Goose and I have alot in common...well except for the mustache...and his wicked fighter jet flying skills. Ok so we're not that alike, but Goose is the wingman. He helps Maverick look good. So in my world, I view every roommate's love interest as a legitimate mission. Once I find out the target, I zero in, drag my roommate with me, and strike up casual conversations. Ideally, the conversation leads to an opportunity where I can suggest an activity that will prolong the interaction and therefore lay groundwork for possible hanging-out potential. Then my work is done and it is in the hands of fate. This is an excellent power, is it not? Sadly, such manipulative mastery as this can only be achieved when I am doing it for the benefit of another. So...what does this mean for me and Goose...the ever faithful wingman? (or wingwoman rather) Well, it means we die as we're ejected from the cockpit. Too bad.