In Praise of

I'm still smiling this morning. I smiled so hard last night my face hurts. But I can't help it. I just can't stop.

I've done more than my fair share of bitching in this blog about dates who did not meet my approval, so it's only fair to, as Salt N Peppa so wisely said, give props to those who deserve it.

I went on the best second date ever (well, technically, fourth, if you count walking around Forest Park and having coffee as 1 and 2). The first (third?) one was pretty amazing too. But you can write things like that off as a fluke. I'm the queen of the good first date. I have a hard time making you hate me in just one evening. Usually by the second, the poor guy has done something from which he cannot redeem himself, and I never answer the phone again. Not so this time.

We went to Terrene and sat on the patio, ate, drank, laughed, flirted. Next stop was Brennan's wine bar. More drinking and laughing and flirting. Final stop, Dressel's. We closed the joint down.

Then came the moment of truth. I put an inordinate amount of faith in the value of the first kiss. So much so that it scares me. It's why I didn't do it last week. Life is too short for bad kissers, and many a poor fellow has been unable to meet the challenge. It's always a shame. He could be the nicest guy in the world, but if the kiss doesn't do it for me, I'm out. So back to the moment of truth...Sometimes a girl needs to be grabbed and kissed. And I was. And I liked it. And I didn't want to stop. I actually can't wait to see him again.

Okay, that's enough. I'll stop. I'm a closet gusher...shhh, don't tell. I have rep to uphold.