Ghost girls

If I needed anymore convincing women have radar, I got it in my inbox the day after I returned from a two-day “holidate.” An ex–my most recent–sent me an email, the first in over, well who’s counting.

It wasn’t much–in fact, the message wasn’t really anything, except perhaps to the overworked and fevered imagination. But it was a little uncanny, the timing. However, I’m not letting it throw me into the past. Instead, I’m flinging myself into the future. Watch out, future, here I come. 

The two days in California wine country earlier this week were heaven-sent. For 48 hours my date and I were treated like royalty; a massage, two fabulous dinners, a hot air balloon ride, breakfast in bed, a winery tour, and time by the pool. For people who had met only a month before, the patent agent and I got along like gangbusters. She was game for anything, and appreciated the resort experience even more than I did. I not only got to expose her to Sonoma but also to, via our suite’s TV, Nancy Grace, neither of which she’d seen before. My date was the first to want to open the bottle of Champagne in our room after the hot air balloon ride and she always knew where a bottle opener was, even though she lost her key card five minutes after entering the suite and later misplaced the remote control (maybe on purpose, after seeing Nancy Grace). And she seems to be one of those people who hears what she wants to hear–for instance, she misheard “binoculars” for “vernacular” while we talking to a cab driver and “cadet corps” for “esprit de corps” in a conversation with a couple of older lady Texans. This provided moments of amusement for yours truly.

I’m a little worried about one thing, though. She seems to prefer me drunk. She says that I’m “funnier and looser.” However, I fear this is one activity in my life where I need less encouragement, not more…

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