Build me up, buttercup

July 30 started like any other day until I experienced a first of epic proportions.  A special delivery arrived for me at work….flowers from a gentleman caller.  The customers oohed and aahed.  My face turned the color of a tomato.  I hastily retreated from view, mortified that I was put on the spot, fending off questions from my colleagues.  Yet once I composed myself I began to appreciate the unexpected gesture.  Save a middle school production of The Little Prince, nobody ever sent me a special bouquet.  So what if I’ve never identified as a flower girl?  At least it’s not Poop Senders!  It means a lot to me knowing that a special somebody thought enough of me to brighten my day with such a beautiful, fragrant gift.  Thank you.

Special delivery from a gentleman caller

I especially love our Assistant Manager’s birthday card and the random shoe in this picture.

A little birdie suggested I put myself out there in an unprecedented manner in the form of texting.  C, D, and M were amongst the lucky digital recipients already mentioned in this blog.  B, F, G, J, MT, and N joined the ranks.  As did two others whom I did not meet from my dating website– L and I have tentative plans to go to a rockabilly show and Z took me for a drive.  Text messaging a dozen new guys within the past couple of weeks makes me feel like an iMessage harlot.  Add carpal tunnel to my slew of self-diagnosed medical conditions.  Never in my life have I been so glued to my cellular device.  Perhaps I should try talking on the phone and/or meeting these male suitors to give my poor thumbs a break…

Don’t call me baby, sweetie, or anything else of that nature.  Just don’t go there.  Especially not in your opening statement.  I ain’t your boo!  Some ladies might like pet names.  Try actually speaking to a lady first and then use your detective skills to see if she wants to be your sweetie baby.  I don’t ever want to be your sweetie baby.  Why does anyone think ‘what’s up baby’ is the way to go?

cbQuite a few fellas inquired about my motives for writing publicly about the dating process.  I’ve been asked if I am ‘using’ people for blog fodder, free meals, or both.  Allow me to clarify:  just because I share my adventures on Cocktails With Hemingway does not mean I am anything less than authentic in my interactions.  Every person who makes it to the date phase knows that I’m a blogger and they are fair game.  In fact, most know before the number swap phase because they’ve been intrepid sleuths, taking it upon themselves to explore.

My time is valuable.  It won’t be wasted on second outings if I’m not enjoying myself.  Everyone also understands 10/12/13.  When I reach that date I’ll reevaluate what I want.  Nobody will ever have to guess how I feel because I will tell them directly.  I’m not in the business of stringing people along, that’s just cruel.

Few things are more awesome than memorable night on somebody else’s dime.  Why should I be ashamed to admit that?  It’s a date!  When you take me out, you pay.  You’ve asked for my company and I’ve agreed to share it with you….so you’ll be funding the adventure.  I don’t need fancy restaurants or serious coin droppage to have a good time with the right person.

With infinite love, gratitude, and respect,



About Cocktails With Hemingway

I'm blunt and opinionated. Virtually everything I say or do is a contradiction but I'm not a hypocrite. I never hesitate to speak my mind and never fail to leave an impression wherever I go. You love me, you hate me, but you'll never forget me.
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