Dear Madlibbin' Parasailer:
I can't believe that it's only been two months since that time that I--so absolutely racked with a case of the first-date-with-a-guy-I-picked-up-in-open-letters-on-my-blog jitters--showed up at Morimoto half an hour early in order to hop around the ladies' room and psyche myself up. In spite of all the hopping around and pep talks to myself in the dimly lit (and definitely not conducive to reapplying makeup) bathroom, I couldn't help but reply to your genial greeting with a frantic, "I'm so nervous right now, I think I'm going to vomit," as I waved my flushed face with my hand and took measured breaths in order to ward off an anxiety attack.
There were interjections of "OMG! I'm so nervous," throughout our meal, a "You're having a good time, aren't you?" as we finished course five or, maybe it was six, and, of course, the (polite) reach for the bill when it arrived was followed by "I'm so glad you're paying because it's really a turnoff when guys don't pay for dinner."
Clearly, I had a most terrible case of verbal diarrhea.
Yet, here we are, celebrating two monts together. Picking you up in open letters on my blog was the best thing I've ever done. I'm so thankful that you're my guy.