No lie, my eyes did wander a bit south a couple times during the meeting. The woman I met at the next table was the most interesting of all, but not in a bad way. She had this cute smile and man, what a tight body on this one. For someone dressed in such a gothic manner, she had such a bubbly personality.
I was instantly discouraged when I saw all the other competing males and their Armani suits, high class whiskey in hand, and auras reeking of nothing but pure self esteem and conceit.
The ladies there were dressed in fine dresses, some of them quite low cut, and smelled like a flower garden designed by Martha Stuart herself.
She found that so romantic and flew into my arms, screaming yes to the skies. I moved out of my shitbox apartment and into her home.
I always admired the cozy feel of her two bedroom ranch house. As I was moving my final things in, I noticed how much of a mess I was making, with my boxes of stuff and all.
I apologized and motioned to the basement to finish moving my things. In a hurried and almost frantic voice, she assured me that she'd take care of the rest of my things and that I should relax. We never got tired of each other, and, on our wedding day, the kiss we shared on that alter was so special that I firmly believe angels surrounded us and serenaded us with harps and trumpets as our lips connected and sparked so brightly that the entire room was illuminated.
It was a bit odd, sure, but she had been through so much excruciating sadness throughout her life that her having a psychiatric illness is something I expected. I'll leave out the details of the honeymoon as this is not a pornographic piece.I had been single for a while, and I was sick and tired of it.Being 32 and single is no laughing matter; the traumatic experiences of watching your friends get married, have children, and attain the American dream are akin to the hopeless depression of the schizophrenic mental patient.I waived the apology and complimented her on her skill, causing her to giggle more. And, to be honest, I was always excited when the cue ball landed on my side of the table. She said she had to get home as she had some errands to run, being new in the neighborhood and all. After about seven months of dating, I asked her to marry me.You know, 'cause she bent over to take her shots, as many pros do. I agreed, since I had a facebook application that I had to update (obviously I didn't give her that reason. I popped the question on the seventeenth, as that's how many games we played on our first date.There were some serious lookers in there, and I swear my pants shrunk a couple sizes at the sight of some of these dresses. The first girl I sat down with was quite young; a 22 year old mother of three.