I woke up at 5 a.m. when my blue tinsel, makeshift engagement ring started cutting off circulation in my left finger.
New Year's Eve marked my second date with A.J. in six months. Apparently his persistance paid off, because there I was, drinking congratulatory beers (which makes him seem immensely more interesting and less irritating), after he proposed in front of the whole bar, and wondering how I was going to get out of this one. Will March of 2000-never work for you?
He seems sweet, but his retirement from law enforcement draws a giant, red waving flag. People drawn to this occupation tend to be paranoid, background-check running, computer key logger installing control freaks. None for me, thanks. He talks too much and says things like "chow" instead of dinner, and gives his daughter article 15s, rather than grounding her.
I hate to prematurely decide that someone's not right for me, but there must be some sort of balance between that and agreeing to go out because of feeling obligated and mean if I don't. I detest conflict, but maybe if I could just punch guys I don't want to see again? Would that be too subtle?
For people I've dated but no longer wish to talk to, I change their ringtone on my cell phone to Bob Dylan's "Don't Think Twice, it's Alright." It's starting to be the only one I hear.
[All my mom had to say about my recent engagement? "I should probably call you more often."]