You can't stand the idea that if a girl is choosing between two guys, she may not choose the romantic doofus who woos her with flowers and cheesy poems, you know? She just might choose the guy with the faster car or the bigger bicep or... the bigger joystick.
Anthony Michael Hall developed some weird thyroid condition, Molly Ringwald lost her gawky teen ingenue appeal, and the rest are languishing somewhere in TV obscurity.
So do you think you can stop throwing basketballs at my face now, Dawson? I think it's glaringly obvious that I'm not going to steal your girlfriend. I mean, at least you have a girlfriend. I've got nothing left.
You're like a God to me Dawson, and I don't even believe in God. I mean, this school hasn't exactly welcomed me with open arms. It seems like everybody here hates me and I don't know why. If it's because I'm from New York, or because I'm different. It seems like my life here is just one big detention that I can't escape, but then, I think about you. And about how I've met a guy who's so romantic, and so caring, and who I like, and who I want so much. Dawson it's because of you that I get through the bad days. And if you think I want you to be some big, varsity sex stud then you're crazy.
I understand that you want to take things slow, I do. And I don't want to rush you. I don't want to be that guy. But I'm human, I have hormones. And to say that I've never thought about having sex with you, I'd be lying. The thought crosses my mind. About a thousand times a day.