If gift price is tied to meal price, it seems there should be a sliding scale.
Confessing your crush to your married co-worker is like arranging a transfer to her — of your 26-pound tumor: “His name is Fred. He enjoys fine wine, banned preservatives, and cigarette smoke. I hope you’re very happy together!”
Using a pre-printed card to hit on the ladies makes a powerful statement: “I’m looking for a kind woman to nurse me back to masculinity.”
A year ago, the woman who pet-sits for me began inviting herself over for dinner. We started going out about three times a week.
The 40-year-old guy I’m dating swivels his head to check out ladies everywhere. He even comments on those he finds attractive. I’ve mentioned that it bugs me. He contends that it’s my insecurities that are really the issue here. I can see how lower self-esteem might lend itself to an offended reaction, as opposed to…
Ideally, “till death do us part” doesn’t lead to daydreams involving a shovel and a tarp.
Candlelight all over your apartment is really romantic — unless you’re using it because they’ve cut your power off again.
So, you just want the security of marriage with all the excitement of dating somebody new — which is kind of like wanting a latex hood and ball gag that are also a comfy old pair of slippers.
There are two ways to solve this problem. One is to say, “Hey, I’d really like you to stay the night.” The other is to hide his shoes and keys.
Sending a mass email is a great way to get some piece of information out to everybody — from your best friend to 1.4 million people on Twitter to three random drunk dudes who really shouldn’t be on their phones at their boss’ funeral in Estonia.