As fast as it lit up, it exploded out like a spark.
And so it goes.
The trials of a 30-something dating in a world filled with
people who are Just Not That Into Me.
I can take it.
I might not like it, but I can take it.
I didn’t like okra as a kid, but I forced it down.
I'm not talking about fried okra either.
Apparently I didn't learn okra could be fried until I was a young adult.
It's gross any way you serve it other than fried.
Trust me.
Boys are sometimes slimy.
Like okra.
This analogy/epiphany is fantastic.
I’m bril.
So I forge ahead into the wilderness.
Or is dating in our thirties more like a war zone?
Needless, I’ll put my battle gear back on.
To protect myself.
Until one day I see some soul raise his white flag.
And then the dating war will be over.
I write my own chapters.
This novel isn’t over yet.
