After 8 years of being in a monogamous, at least my side of it, relationship I imagined dating as an exciting barbie-esq ritual where boys named brad would pick me up at my townhouse in their red two seat convertible. Me at the barbie townshouse standing ten heads high with my feet in a perpetually flexed position, they would pick me up and take me and my fabulous out fits to fabulous places. I would be perfectly tan even in every crack, and have a waist about a centimeter around. I'd have no pubic hair or juicy orifices and neither would he, but that wouldn't stop us from trying to get it on. Sometimes his head would even fall off while we were at it. There would never be any bad feelings, or thoughts about the past or future. We were never mad at each other or nervous or jealous and when we were tired we would just throw ourselves on the ground and time would stop until we were ready to do it all again.

It hasn't really worked out that way., instead it is guys with fetishes, and nervous ticks, and real smells and real desires, and sometimes, real problems, not at all what I was thinking. And then of course there is me.