Crossing lines?

While we were on vacation we ended up eating three times at Benjamin's, a small local place. (If you're ever in Rockville, Indiana, they're on 36, on the left about 1/2 a mile past the courthouse while heading east. The parking lot is wickedly muddy after a snow thaw or 5 inches of rain, so be smart (not like me) and don't wear your good black leather boots.) The last time we ate there I took nine pictures of Sean with my camera phone. I don't know what possessed me to do such a thing.

What occurs to me now, with time to reflect on it, is this: since I have no idea why I did it, what was he thinking? "c'mon, cut that shit out already. I weary of you, wench." or maybe "sheesh. what's your emotional age? three?" or perhaps "wow, I can't believe that this totally hot woman wants so many pictures of little old me." Tee hee. I'd like to believe that it's the last one. (aside: I am quietly laughing to myself. I can't believe that I actually just typed that. Me. Hot. Totally hot. Ha ha ha.) But I fear that it's one of the first two.