Last night, while watching “The Bachelor: The Women Tell All,” I found myself getting more than a little choked up watching Ashley Spivey’s one-on-one interview with Chris Harrison. Her hands folded delicately in her lap, she talked about how Brad Womack‘s rejection feels like a pattern she’s been stuck in for years. On that first night, Brad had given her the first impression rose. For maybe two weeks, he adored her. And then, he sent her home. “I’m in disbelief right now,” Ashley said in the backseat of the limo. “They always say the exact same thing, ‘You’re going to make such a great wife, just not for me.’” Elvis crooned “Are You Lonesome Tonight” in the background.
I looked across my living room at a bouquet of flowers that The Young One bought me for no particular reason, and noted that my dog was curled up on a t-shirt he left here over the weekend. The Young One and I are approaching the two-month mark and things remain so awesome between us. But man, oh man, do I remember feeling the way Ashley does. Keep reading »
It’s been three years since I’ve uttered the phrase, “This is my boyfriend, __________.” So every time I’ve said it in the past two weeks, as the word ‘boyfriend’ passed through my lips, it felt both totally foreign and completely natural. Even though it’s a word that conjures up images of high school and “Do you like me? Check yes or no” letters, each time I say it, the word makes me feel just a little bit giddy.
I’ve been dating The Young One for six blissful weeks. Keep reading »
Like a cat who constantly wants to be petted, I have an insatiable need for back rubs. I am forever asking significant others for them—a request that is usually obliged, but that is sometimes met with a “Maybe later,” an “I’m tired” or, worse, an “Again?” So far, The Young One has been happy to indulge each and every back massage request. But last Thursday night, as we watched TV at his place, I suddenly found myself sitting on the back of the couch, leaning over and kneading my hands into his shoulders. “That feels incredible,” he said.
He hadn’t asked me for a back rub, nor had I consciously decided to give him one—it was something I did without thinking. It was the first moment I realized that I am totally in love with this guy. Keep reading »
Yesterday evening, I met The Young One outside my office with no idea of where we were going or what we were doing to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I’d pressed him for clues all week and the most he would give me was, “You’ll really like it,” and “If you wear heels, nothing too high.” We began walking, zigging and zagging down the unseasonably warm New York City streets. Every time I thought I had an idea of where we were headed, he’d laugh at my guess, shake his head ‘no,’ and make an abrupt turn. Finally he said, “This is it,” motioning toward an awning with the words “Ballroom Dancing” printed on it. Keep reading »
I love Halloween. Ditto Thanksgiving. I am all about the Fourth of July—bring on the fireworks and hot dogs. I even enjoy a good April Fool’s prank. In fact, there is only one secular holiday that makes me break out into hives: Valentine’s Day.
See, St. Valentine and I have a complex relationship. Keep reading »
I had a picture in my mind of how my next dating experience was going to go. I’d meet a nice guy, maybe at a friend’s house party or while we both tried to flag down the bartender at one of those speakeasy-esque bars that serves cocktails with perfectly square ice cubes. We’d exchange some witty words, some knowing smiles, and clink our glasses as we got a second round. He’d ask for my number and would call a few days later. Our first date would be during the day—maybe to a museum—followed by a dinner date the next week, if things went well. I had in my mind that, next time I got on the dating mechanical bull, I was going to take things slow and steady so I didn’t get bucked off too soon.
But then I met The Young One. Keep reading »