and suddenly, the worry of being alone for the rest of my days was gone.
I’d met her: the perfect woman.
she was tall, funny, smart, sexy, and had a smile that sent guys into diabetic coma. she could drive a stick, choose a great red, and cooked a mean eggplant parmagiana. she was cool, with just the right whiff of nerdiness… and she was passionate about all the things in life that mattered to me: love, art, sex, her work, food, sex, animals, politics, sex, the environment, independence, sex… did I mention sex?
ya.
sex.
she liked it.
a lot.
“the final year of our relationship, I couldn’t get my ex to fuck me,” she laughed bitterly on our second date.
it left me wondering if he’d been stricken with Down’s.
on our third date when she snuggled onto my lap while unbuttoning my shirt, she breathed into my ear, “God, that new BBC Planet Earth series is so gorgeous it just makes me bawl,” and I thought it was probably time to go ring shopping.
a girl like this doesn’t stay single (or un-fucked) for very long.