We hovered around him like buzzards surrounding a fresh carcass. “Just get in and get out,” Friend 1 shouted at him. “It’ll be over so fast!” Friend 2 added. “Come on, don’t chicken out,” Friend 3 contributed. “If you don’t do this then you’re dead to me!” Friend 4 screamed, spittle flying from their mouth and also I should mention Friend 4 was me. We were out at a bar for our friend’s 24th birthday. The rest of the group, myself included, had a mean age that fell in the 30 – 35 age bracket. However, we’d all met and bonded at the same dark, cramped bar here in Seattle, all rooting for the same English soccer team. They are friendships formed over shared hatreds of opposing teams and shared beers at 6am kickoffs. Our spring chicken of a friend, the one now turning 24, will sometimes talk about crushes with us at the bar, girls he might find cute or intriguing. We tend to grill him, digging furiously through his hesitant collection of information, foraging …