Three or Four
Oh, how I wimper! I am simply out of my mind on what to do and once again I come crawling to you... You guessed it dear, in the face of my uncertain future as I'm about to be out on my own without a plan or a place to store my curling iron, I am simply all consumed with men problems.
As I last wrote to you I believe I had three prominent men flisking about? Now it's up to four but one of the originals has somewhat dissapeared so I've not counted him as one of the aforementioned four. Another is off galavanting about in Uraguay for a month so I guess that really only leaves three.
Anyhoo, the one who dissapeared... This would be the latin fellow with the Jeep. We had plans to go off-roading but as my tires seem to be a bit threadbare and one of them somewhat unceremoniously exploded the other day (thank my fairy god mother Alisa was present or I would have simply been out of my sorts trying to put the spare on) I had to postpone that little romp into nature and havn't seen nor heard from him since.
That of course leaves the lawyer and the actor. I heeded your advice and chose to rid myself of the laywer -- or at least I've tried. He had a somewhat warped perception of me through reading my travel journal which I never really did forgive him for so I thought I might play it up and give him a bit of a scare. I foresaw it working wonders... the poor fellow would think me to be a bit too wild for a lawyer's lifestyle and head off for some accountant or at least a nice docile traffic cop. But no, he simply must be just as attracted to as repulsed by the character I play for him as he is still poking about.
Regardless, he's fairly harmless. It's my actor I must worry about. Oh Trudy, I've done my best to stay a Texas two-step away but the truth is I'm a wimp and didn't have the nerve to tell him to slow down to a nice country/western pace and stop disco dancing around me and now I've found myself in the middle of Saturday Night Fever doing the Hussle. But with the help of a cocktail or two I'm going to inform him of my intentions to take up ballet with others.
What others you ask?
Well, there is a very nice architect who lives in the heart of South Beach. I met him at Pleasure Island at Disney World a few weeks ago (much to Nylda's dismay I might add) and as he's currently spending a month in Uraguay he is of course at the top of my "most eligible" list: I can imagine him to be all sorts of wonderfull without ruining my dream guy image with reality. That reality thing always seems to blow up in my face.
Reality, I hate it. Here I was sitting in a restaurant in Ft. Lauderdale with guy number four having a simply splendid conversation with a young, soon-to-be Marine who is fluent in three languages and just as I had become positively interested I also found out he's 18 and only just about to graduate highschool! The label may say nutritious but I'm not about to start eating Gerbers.
It only gets worse! After a few email correspondences I received the following:Anyways, I have thought about my date problem and I thought - only if you are intrested - that maybe you would like to be part of this really cool event. You dont have to go but I am asking you to be my date for my 1996 high school prom. You are the only one I think is the best choice. CAll me or email back and tell me what you think. Bye.Aaaarrrrgh! How do I, how do I, how do I get myself into such predicaments? I foresaw this coming and even made suggestions of who he could take and referenced my dissatisfaction at my own prom. I mean, really Trudy, I don't even have a descent dress!