Love is…

Love… the cursed four letter word. Makes me do crazy things, like fall off the bike on a recent date while bragging about how athletic I am (still have scars to prove it.) Or cram myself, sausage-like, into the most uncomfortable, hot, sweaty, spandex straitjacket (otherwise known as Spanx) in the hopes that the dress I’m wearing brings him to his knees. (You’d have thought we would have gotten over girdle when we starting burning bras…what has happened to us??)

Love seems silly, really. All that hunting, for what? My catch and release record would tire even the most avid fisherman. My dating bruises put a NFL quarterback to shame. If I had that success rate in anything else, I would seriously question my own sanity (already have plenty of material for that.)

Yet I keep at it, like approaching the shoe sale rack with innocent hope that there will be more than three sad and lonely size 11s waiting to be adopted (meanwhile, the size 8 rack always seems to be overflowing in abundance.)

Leave a Reply