Dating stories trenches
Except he started calling me every single night, no lie. That works out better for me, financially. Another man was almost my kind of guy, aside from having lopped the better part of a decade off his age. He should not have known where she lived.
But I eventually the next night moved on to Jon, the old liar. Like he caressed my knee and even put his chin on my shoulder. His messages were initially a trifle effusive, nervous perhaps.
Our third date was a quick meet-up at Starbucks on his way to the airport. My head hurts just typing this. Call me whatever you want. It could all be one big coincidence or maybe they were all onto something.
Pretty nifty thinking on my part, it turned out, as he turned out to be another old fart who had posted a picture of himself when he used to have hair. He was sexy, and that makes up for a lot.
They should have met in a very public place for dinner. Unfortunately, after the third hour of our marathon date he started talking about available apartments where we could move in together. Except a month later, he friended me again. Here are my favorite stories so far. She said yes and here goes.
And I have not been given the ability to zip it. He friends her on Facebook then asks her year-old daughter out. They communicated for a few months and then he drives some five hours to visit her. He was cute and funny and kind, but there was zilch chemistry.
Lucky for me because it turned out to be a Kentucky accent and Stuart turned out to be built like a brick house and purty darn cute. Really, all it boiled down to was a game of romance roulette. Geez, after reading what I wrote, I think I sound harsh. She never should have allowed him in her home. It was sort of funny and, well, kind of weird and inappropriate.
Being a pest never pays off. He begged and pleaded fo another chance.
It consists of one Bishop and two Counselors. Why yes, I have, I replied. He complimented me right and left and even brought me a book in Classics, which I had studied in college. Am I living on Mars or are these women dumber than a box of rocks. He does, but not until he calls her a prude and all kinds of other names.
Driving home, I began to feel less confident about the matchmaking endeavour. Divorce is difficult, but divorce and chemo and moving at the same time is quite the journey. The sales girls and I hid behind the mannequins and ogled him while he trod about looking for me. Sooner or later I will find someone special. But finding a good match is that mix of timing, chemistry, luck, geography and a bunch of other intangible things.
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