Why can’t I be wired to love whoever it’s convenient to love? I know lots of honest-to-goodness terrific guys. I’m lonely. They’re lonely. The solution seems simple enough, right? Unfortunately, my heart is a stubborn bastard. It insists that there is someone out there worth waiting for. While that remains to be seen, shouldn’t we all have our eyes peeled for someone that makes us feel good to be ourselves?

When I’m in full geek out mode over a new book, I need someone to share my enthusiasm. When I suggest a vacation spot based solely on purported werewolf sightings in the area, I need someone to start packing the silver. When I concoct something off-the-charts corny, such as green hot chocolate to enjoy while we’re watching ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’, just go with it, ok?

However naïve it may be, I still want the mere mention of someone’s name to turn me into a living Lite-Brite, and vice versa.