At one point while dating, one-third of the men I dated were Mike, Miguel, or Michael. When I finally began to date, I didn't fool around, "Let's see if you seriously want to find a companion, D."
Apparently I didn't seriously want to find a companion.
All of them were lovely gentlemen. I just wasn't ready. It was me.
Well, maybe that one land man was a horse behind. No offense to horses.
I kept a list. After a certain point I thought I might want to remember good times. A list it was.
One week it was Mike the English professor, Mike the country boy, and Mike the law professor. It was during this week that I realized I wasn't cut out for three dates in one week.
It was fun though, wonderful men.
An author I met told me to submit one story per week to the LA Times. I had enough fodder for a year.
Great stories.
I got out alive.
No more.
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