Teeth-chattering, goose-pimply, words dropping like ice cubes from trembling lips, cold. Not cold, nervous energy, enough to air condition a third-world, desert country.
Normally a well-maintained professional, whenever he’s around, I turn into a quivering jellyfish. I can’t speak without stammering or walk without stumbling over a piece of lint on the carpet.
I must come across like a love-struck schoolgirl, incapable of carrying on an adult conversation. I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I don’t know what to do with my hands.
Too bad I’m old enough to be his mother.
Thin spiral notebook 
it’s been a long time since I felt like this, but I remember it was delightful and wonderful. 😉
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Fabulous word play here. The visuals draw the reader in and the powerful punch softly lands in the last sentence. That’s masterful writing.
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Smokin’
Hello Mrs. Robinson 😉
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How absolutely cool – I never saw that ending coming – as always beautiful prose with a silky underbelly.
Thank you for sharing
AnnMarie
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Rawr (is that how it goes?)
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I think that’s what the kids say…
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That still happens to me and I’m old enough to be their grandmother.
Leslie
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I think my grandmother used to call it, ‘tha vapours.’
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I would call it the “hots”
Leslie
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