The other day, after I told Stan that I was done with all three bachelors (yes, I know I never wrapped up that story, did I mention the car accident? Give me a little more time!), he pointed out to me that I've had stories for him about eight different guys in this calendar year. Eight seemed a lot, but we counted it out and it was true. Scandal!
Well, not really, because of those eight, I only kissed four of them, and I only cared about two. The rest were flirtations, distractions, or speculations. To review:
1. the Musician. For those of you who thought my little weekly update on him was mean, let me assure you -- he is an attention whore, and he's probably more upset now that I don't write about him anymore. Exhibit A: When I stopped writing about him, he took me off his mailing list.
2,3. the London brothers. The Atlantic is really wide. Also, brothers? Such a minefield.
4. the 24-Year-Old. Yes, I dropped the ball on that one. He was sweet, cute, and attentive, and I sent him packing without giving him my number or getting his. Michelle has a friend who knows him from school, so I could try to pursue this further. Maybe after a little hiatus; for now I could use a break.
5. Bachelor #3. In the wake of the other two bachelors imploding last week, I have been tempted to resurrect this distraction. But I know I can't -- it's not right, not nice, not fair. Such a bad idea; I will be strong.
6. Bachelor #2.
7. Bachelor #1
Wait, that's only seven. I forgot one. If anyone remembers, please let me know. I'm worse than I thought!
Update: Stan finally remembered; the eighth was my cokehead alcoholic ex, who I got in touch with while I was delerious with bronchitis, had one dinner with, then never wanted to see again. Worth having forgotten, I'd say, and doesn't change the stats of 8/4/2.