Sneaky little beasts they are

Dear future hubster,

let me tell you one thing about the butterflies. One thing that somehow everybody always gracefully omits.

That they are not fun. The ones in your stomach, I mean.

And you know why? Because they feel like an anxiety attack. And that, dear future hubster, is anything but fun.

Think about it for a moment: when you are about to fall for somebody, your stomach squeezes and your breathing somehow feels superficial and you have the impression that you don't get enough oxygen. (Which, by the way, may explain why you suddenly can't think straight.) Doesn't it sound like what they call hyperventilation, often occurring as a panicked response to fear?

It may as well be. Because butterflies, dear future hubster, are damn scary. You know you're heading for a fall and yet you keep going the same direction, bracing yourself for impact. Your attempts to saving yourself are lame. You know that butterflies can't be eaten away, they can't be drunken away. They can't even be jogged away.

I'm not sure there is a universally accepted anti-butterfly treatment. You just sit it out and see. Either you suffer temporary brain damage and will for a while be roaming around with a silly grin on your face (case of butterflies shared), or will at some point suddenly feel stomach and heart empty (case of butterflies unrequited).

Ironically enough, the moment you lose them butterflies, you will wish you could have them back.