Okay, so last night's date, date number two for the week, was a bust. And I noticed that the guy had a weird speech thing, where he'd say "ok" three or four times after every comment I made. Sort of like Joe Pesci in Lethal Weapon. Strange.
I'm sorely tempted to cancel my date on Saturday with Bachelor number three. He wants to go to the MoMa. I want to crawl under the covers and stay there until Monday morning.
But as my dear, married, baby-having, annoyingly optimistic best friend says: you can't win if you don't play the game. Easy for him to say when now it's just a spectator sport. I think he secretly, or maybe not so secretly, gets a kick out of my single life woes. There's nothing like being positive reinforcement for the married.
But even though dating is a contact sport with a high risk for injury, single life definitely has its advantages, most notably, the autonomy. Doing whatever you want, whenever you want, is a very sexy thing. And everyone knows it's always more fun to play the game than to sit around watching from the sidelines.
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