But then again the guy in the Blue Armani suit, three thousand dollar rolex and a shirt hand-sewn in Paris, didn’t do much good either.

After all a girl can only give so many pints of blood a week, and this dude bit at least once a day.

Unimaginative too, couldn’t he occassionally bite me somewhere other than my neck. Heck it’s all bruised to High Wafham and he still goes for the same spot, every time!

After him, of course, was Marty. Mr. Outdoors himself, the king of I-love-to-run-naked-through-the-woods-hunting-during-the-full-moon.

I’m still trying to get the hair out of my teeth after kissing him for ten seconds.

I tell you, good men are just so hard to find…