In looking back on my love life (and I need my glasses to see that far), I can rate my experiences on a bell curve. On one end, there are seven-course gourmet meals with between-course sherbert to cleanse the palette and a delightful cognac afterwards. On the other end is airline food. Thankfully, most of my "meals" fall in the "Country Buffet" category: not all the food is tasty, but I always leave satisfied.
Lately, I've been wondering if my last "meal" is actually going to be my last meal. It's been six months since He Who Must Not Be Blamed and I were together; frankly, that experience was in the Applebee's category of reasonably-priced entrees. Shouldn't I be allowed to splurge on a hot-fudge sundae just one more time?
In our 20s, men themselves were like meals: just stay at the table, because another one will be along shortly. Nowadays, the men seem to be bringing their own sandwiches.
I know I shouldn't compare my "meals" today with the ones I had in my 20s. The great Satchel Paige said, "Don't look back - something may be gaining on you." In my case, if I look back, I might find out nobody's after me at all.
He also said, "If your stomach disputes you, lie down and pacify it with cool thoughts." I like that idea, but it's hard to keep "cool thoughts" in mind, when the dessert cart keeps rolling by.
Eventually, a girl's gotta eat.
