Dating is like going to a restaurant. Not just any restaurant, but one that all of my friends (married friends) have told me has the best filet mignon and creme brule. And I "just have to go." (Plus, it's a commandment, so I really do have to go anyway.) So I put on my best dress, pull up my hair, splash on my fanciest makeup and head to the restaurant with eager anticipation.
As I walk into the restaurant, the waiter seats me and I order my steak and dessert to follow. Meanwhile, I look around at everyone relishing their filet mignon and creme brule and my mouth waters in anticipation. Butterlies flutter in my stomach and I can hardly wait for the tasty treat. Finally, the waiter brings me my plate which, much to my dismay, is not filet mignon, but brussel sprouts! I HATE brussel sprouts! Sorely disappointed, I leave the restaurant to tell my friends about the experience.
"How did it go?," they ask, blissfully holding the hands of their spouses.
"Not well," I respond. "Not only did I not get the juicy, flavorful beef and the creamy, sweet dessert that I ordered, but I got slimey, puke-green vegetables that taste like dirt instead!"
"Well, that happens to almost everyone at least once," they say. "Sometimes you have to go back several times, but it's worth it in the end."
So I go back. The same thing happens again- brussel sprouts instead of my filet mignon! With stubborn determination I keep going back to the restaurant again and again, seeing the other customers enjoying their meals and hoping for some savory delights of my own. Unfortunately, the same result follows each time.
And although the green little devils are prepared in different ways each time, (because everyone is different), - in a buttery sauce, in a shower of paprika, or a la parmesano oregano- I still hate them. No gravy, sauce or spice can cover up the flavor of dirt.
Quite frankly, I'm just not hungry anymore.
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