Dont Mince Words

Since I’ve been dating GC for a while, I haven’t been able to say my favorite four-lettered word, N-E-X-T. However, that hasn’t stopped my girlfriends from calling to seek advice or validation from me.

Linda called me yesterday laughing about Fire Marshall Bill troubles. It seems he has been playing the field and one of his girlfriends hacked into his cellphone and texted Linda. The girls compared notes and quickly discovered they were victims of dating fraud.

“Next,” I told Linda.

Next turned into us instantly inventing a “Cry me a river of lies” DoucheBag doll with a pull string that can recite 20-40 cliché man excuses. “She’s just a friend.” “I was on the phone with my mom.” “I’ve got to go out of town for while.” And my favorite, “I’m still living with my wife so I can save money for a divorce.”

Mary called tonight to verify first date protocols. The meeting is tomorrow and the guy hasn’t called to confirm time or place. “Tomorrow, if he calls I’m just not going to answer my phone,” she decided.

I told her a more effective approach would be to tell him she made other plans when she didn’t hear from him. My other plans usually involved my dog and Netflix, or researching a new vibrator attachment, but the last minute lack-of-plan slackass never needed to know that.

So, it’s refreshing to know I’m still the voice of dating reason while He’s Just Not That Into You is number one at the box office.

I won $100 for one quarter in the office Super Bowl pool. I realize this is random and requires no knowledge of football, but it’s exciting to me all the same.

The last time I won something was at the state fair. The guy guessed my weight wrong and I got a stuffed animal. I may of won a dollar or two on scratch lottery tickets, but those aren’t as exciting.

Cash is so much better. Maybe I’m on a streak. Checking those Vegas packages right now…..

Yesterday was my birthday. No big deal and usually a nonevent for me, but when other people need an excuse to celebrate, I’m game. I mean, if there’s chocolate or beer involved, how horrible could it be.

GC took me to dinner at a swank place last night. As he held my hand and looked into my eyes he asked, “how old are you anyway?” I guess in our early courting rituals, we never got around to that detail.

“I’m 43. You too can look like me if you start your eye cream habit early,” I revealed.

“Oh, so you are only a year and a half older than me. We don’t look our age,” he said.

When it came time to order dessert, I knew I had matured. I got the baked apples instead of the chocolate gateau.

Another year wiser.