One offers fine wine, foot massages, Belgian chocolate, and a Caribbean vacation, while another inquires if his future mate is curious about fisting. Hmm…looks like I am not going to find my dream boat on craig’s List. Maybe if the former offered fine beer, back massages, Belgian chocolate, and Belgian vacations it would be his lucky day. I don’t want to eat Belgian Chocolate in the Carribean. I want to drink El Presidente in the Carribean. And I certainly don’t want to meet my lad on Craig’s list.
With Valentine’s Day looming in the not so distant, I decided to take a few moments out from what’s been commented on as my “fascinating life”, and ponder what would make it fascinating on february 14th, or more so, who?
I have three weeks and five days to be swept off my feet. or perhaps sweep him off his. Considering my frequency of watering hole visits- it’s more likely to happen there then during a Philly car share exchange at Broad and Ellsworth.
Truth be told I have had a valentine more years than not, but I have kind of dated the same guy in different bodies for five years now. And I am done. After my last quasi relationship, I started setting rules. No more canuks, no more actors, no more bar managers, bar owners, bar tenders, etc… no more musicians, no more chefs.
But then I thought, should I really pigenohole myself like that? What if I meet a mandolin-playing, part-time restaurant manager, who gets parts every now and then, and calls Nova Scotia home. And- he just so happens to brew his own beer, wants to go running in Fairmount park, play scrabble with me and is also trying to eat as much guacamole as he can in this lifetime. Then what’s a lass to do?