What is it with men? When I'm single, you're indifferent, but when I'm taken, I'm like honey for the bees?
I recently started going out with a really amazing guy. Handsome, self-assured, well-spoken and yet thoroughly devoid of that strutting, cocky vibe that can be so off-putting. A part of me is wondering when the bloom will fade, and yet I'm more optimistic than I've ever been about a guy. I have a smile on my face most moments, and the warm flush of summer dapples my cheeks despite the icy winds that have preternaturally set upon Chicago this Fall. If I could bottle this ... you've got the idea.
So last evening, a couple of members of the Posse (an extended group of friends) and yours truly went to PJ Clarke's for minnies, Michelob Ultras, and the Cubs'n'Braves. I'm hardly gussied up, and yet almost immediately I'm practically the lone female in a boy band.
Is it that I can talk Sports? I hardly think it's unusual to be able to discuss the relative merits of whether Sammy Sosa should remain with the Cubs in 2004. Is it that I don't really care if you like me, you really like me? Whatever it is, I could have used it before now ... and not now!
Innocently, the Posse and I are gossiping (about ourselves, not others), comparing players goatees, and hoping, praying, that the Cubs will come from behind (which by now you know they did). Next thing I know Mr. K is hanging on my every word, and trying to hang on me like a cropped T on Britney Spears. I'm not into Mr. K, or Mr. Y, and I've no intention of engaging in anything other than banter with them, but sheesh - where were you guys a couple of months ago?
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