After the revelation that I am actually a lot happier in shallow fling-type relationships with no attachment (and really, folks, this is not denial - my last attached relationship left me crying on the bathroom floor for months), I considered having drinks and dinner with an older gentleman I had met at a party. Older being 46.
Anyway, after an exchange of very nice emails getting acquainted and (as always with me) engaging in the random delicious witty flirt, he stated that he was an incurable romantic.
Well, I kind of got that since he had been married twice before and was still trying to get into someone's pants.
But of course I wasn't going to say that, because he's kind of Richard Gere-ish and I was going to get a free dinner out of the thing. And I'm really trying to work on my tact although I sometimes feel that the people who think they deserve tact are the ones with the least consideration for anyone else. Anyway...
Instead, since he HAD been rather forthcoming and candid, I decided to tell him that I was, in fact, a CURABLE romantic. In fact, I informed him that I have been romantically cured like a Christmas ham. With extra salt.
I haven't heard from him since.
Oh well. Next?
It Is Happening Again
21 hours ago