i keep composing this really wretched list of what my dream man should be and do. i know this list is terrible and that no man with a pulse will ever be able to fit the list, yet that does not stop me from composing it in my head.

why do i do these things?

tonight to the list i added: will listen to me talk about books, will pick out the dishsoap tasting jellybeans and will poke at my left armpit to determine if, in fact, it’s armpit cancer or merely my armpit bone (if, indeed, armpits have bones).

see? the list just keeps getting longer and longer. i suppose i’m willing to compromise on most everything but the guacamole making. a girl’s gotta have priorities.