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DFMOS become MO’s with anyone above 6’0 who keeps your attention long enough to buy you that Blue Moon and hand it to you while it’s still icy. That’s exactly what Scott did for me. He passed me a drink, I was hot, it was cold, and I was hooked.
This is the story about the time my life was almost as cute as a cheesy romcom. Except instead of kissing Price Charming at the end, I side hugged an average guy.
I had a couple of stray boys cluttering my inbox like those Bed Bath and Beyond coupons you can’t bring yourself to delete just in case you need to by a handheld steamer.
Darrin and I met in the fall…then he ghosted, hard. I wish I could say that the story ends with me forgetting about Darrin and then finding myself while on a hike somewhere remote yet Instagram-friendly.
On a first date, I went to a folk concert an hour drive from my house—and we were accompanied by a married couple, an engaged couple, and a Tinder couple. As that’s not bad enough, it gets worse.
He was cute and charming and I was flattered by the attention he was giving me. And so even though the first text he sent me that day after getting my number was cringe-worthy—“Hey ur pretty sexy”—I responded saying it was fun meeting him.
John looked very nice on paper. Three years older than me, brown hair, green eyes, played soccer, great job, Barbour jacket, nice upbringing, a classy needlepoint belt, blah blah blah blah. I can’t say I was expecting blood and cocaine to be part of the first date, yet here we are.