After several months of a Goldilocks-storied dating experience: “this one’s too little” “this one’s too whiny” “this one’s too wimpy” “this one’s too shady” "this one's deathly thin" “this one can’t get from point A to point B without a momma” – a too-this, too-that, not-the-one, moving-on kind of pattern, I may have stumbled into Baby Bear's bed.
But not before I questioned whether my expectations are way too high – the cookie jar that even my highest stilettos will never reach. Or, is it that I am just that non-committal and actually relish spending Saturday nights alone in my Juicy Couture with a baked potato and a bag of gummy bears and a bottle of wine? I can entertain myself after all.
But then I have that date that makes me realize that I am not an unsatisfied Goldilocks. I’m not swinging from the chandeliers, mind you. I am in no way saying that this Baby Bear is The One. I'm in no way saying that he knocks my socks off. But it is refreshing that he warrants a second peek.
But now, after that second date, I am right back to being the unsatisfied Goldilocks. I could list a million reasons why whilst lounging in my Juicy sweats and talking to the make-believe dog; or, I could push those thoughts away and go for the third date.