Monday, July 14, 2008

So we're dating.

We'd spent a lot of time over the last year specifically not dating. We'd like to think it was because we were refueling, so to speak. Refueling for what, though, we have no clue.

So we're dating.

Y'all know about the match. We are a magnet for the women in their late 30s on the match who "don't want games" and "just want someone respectful to converse with." Oh with the winking, these very nice women with even nicer, um, personalities. We'd like to think we're still in our *early* 30s, because we are, and while we are respectful and a master conversationalist, we'd also like to think we have some of the dirty.

So we're dating.

We don't know how we feel about this, yet. It's way stressful. Can one date plural people? When one communicates this to his present paramour, does one risk a slapping? What if one *enjoys* this slapping? And why are we already thinking about having this conversation with said paramour? Why are we calling her a paramour? Is having the dirty a problem? Slapping?

So we're dating.

Which means we, um, groom ourselves more and clean our bathroom *and* the shelves in the fridge and actually, you know, wash our sheets. It also means we blurt things out like, "Yeah, we quit the porn" over dinner.

So yeah, we're dating.

2 comments:

Matt Katz said...

New dating column! Yay!

Now promote the shit out of this: barackobamatees.com (deborah's latest venture)

And pay for me paintball, yo!

Old Man Snap said...

We're such a shill. Check it. And thanks for the comments!