Cleaning...

Stupid, I know... but can't talk... cleaning!

So the 6'2" base player, articulate, funny mechanic... is coming to dinner on Friday night.

So I'm walking around the house thinking like this bird that someone sent me.  Yes, I know it's a bird, but it thinks just like me! [the angry parrot]  Seriously, I'd love to own this thing and have it sitting on my balcony screeching to the street!

But back to reality...  Am I out of my ever living mind!  A date!  Another date!  And he is ringing my bell.  Usually, I'm relatively frosty - at least for a while (like date ten).  On date one with my base player, I leaned over and brushed icing sugar from his chin.. twice (from a vanilla slice).  How strange that I would do that; but worse... He felt good.  Firm chin.  Good skin.  Just good.  And right.

Dinner!  But hey... Oh... He's nice.  He is like me.  He is a base player.  Has a record collection.  The other day when he drove me home, he turned the stereo up and sung his head off - ahhhh just like me; except he actually has a good voice.

So I have my menu.  I'm cleaning.

I'm basically just waiting for that anvil to drop out of the sky and hit me in the head; because there has to be something wrong with him!  Some catch...