Correct me if I am wrong, but to this point, I think I have been a pretty OK guy. Yes, I made up some bullshit to get out of situations and let go of some relationships that I should have worked harder at, but all and all, I felt that eighty of these ninety women would have said I was a nice guy, that is, if they remembered me at all.
But I remember vividly disliking Bobbi before I ever met her. You might want to know why I bothered to meet her at all. I fear it was the George Costanza syndrome, “If every decision I have ever made was wrong, perhaps I should do the opposite.”
Every instinct I had told me I would not like Bobbi, so I would do the opposite and be pleasantly surprised and fall instantly in love.
Yeah, right! Perhaps on TV, but not in my life.
Fortunately, I met her on a Saturday morning for coffee. There is not much invested here. She was everything I hoped she would not be: unattractive, boring, self-absorbed; these were her best features.
Twenty minutes later, I told her that I had a call-ahead appointment at the Urgent Care in Narberth, and I had to run.
Can I comment?
This is a test.
Test