Don’t ask me about that Friday. It was an unfulfilling night with lots of anticipation and expectation but no goods to be delivered.
It’s officially a dry spell. Where exactly do eligible single guys hang out?
I’ve tried bookstores, cafes, clubs, pubs, sports shops and even supermarkets. But the only glimpse of any potential species is hanging off the arms of other creatures. I remember a particular incident when I was making eyes at A-Cute-One across the shelves of the now defunct Borders. We soon ended up chatting about Books, Weather and Holidays. Just as I was about to gather my courage and ask him for his number, his Significant-Other swopped over, dangled her big-ass-proposal ring as a shield between us, and said Hi.
Well, truth is, she seemed like a nice lady.
I, of course, graciously shook and hand, commented what a nice couple they made and furiously wishing I was the one with the ring instead.
Oh, sour grapes.
Engaged and married men (especially the cute ones) should never be allowed to speak to single women. Spare us the disappointment please.
Not loving,
Esther Nook
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