Maybe I’m just a glass-half-full kind of girl.
When I was single, I thought it was great that I could come home at any time of night or sleep wherever I happened to be when I got tired or get in bed at 8:45. I could find someone to buy me dinner or I could eat an entire pizza and pretend it never happened. Most days I thought I was happy.
But this is better.
I like his comfy chest and long tangly arms in my bed. I’d rather share blintzes with him or spit a sandwich in front of the t.v. I’m pretty sure I am happy.
And it doesn’t hurt that I don’t have to worry about Simon’s message that he’ll be in town Valentine’s day weekend or Tal’s text to see if I’m happy or accidentally telling Jeffrey I love him.
I’m sure dating was fun, I just can’t exactly remember why.