I wouldn’t date a guy once when he bragged that he didn’t like garlic. I mean, really, where could that possibly go long term? And who brags about something like that to a classically trained cook?
On paper he looked near-perfect … devilishly handsome and successful, but as I sipped my first (and only) glass of wine listening to him drone on about the evils of garlic and Thai food, his belief that global warming was just propaganda, etc. I wanted to be anywhere else but there. By the time he got to his love of Kenny G, I was so bored and incensed I could almost feel my nostrils flaring. I even briefly wondered if I should try the old “escape via the ladies room” trick. This was a perfectly boring, perfectly predictable man, perfectly void of any spice and seasoning. Translation: sex would be the same. Blink, blink! I didn’t stay for a second glass.
Oh, go ahead and read my post Memorial Day in the Hindsight Zone on dating and trying to find love.
There’s always been a man who lived in my imagination. Even before I met him. I knew he was there. And I knew he was looking for me. I could feel it. He’s always had my heart. Odds were that he was not in my town, state, country, or even hemisphere. Yet, suddenly, and without a big to-do there he was. Only feet away. Life has been joyful and beyond. Welcome to our life, Lindsay Rosebrock!
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