A Treat

I slipped. I caved. I fell off the wagon. Big Time. It was as if some higher being plopped the quintessentially attractive man in front of me. It was a test and I failed. I resisted, he persisted and I melted into a puddle of lust somewhere in the 80s on the west side. I even told him I had sworn off men, but that didn’t save me: one minute we were dancing and talking and the next minute he was in my bed.

Normally I would have awakened the next day feeling guilty, slutty. Instead, a funny thing happened: I was smiling. I smiled all day. You see, this guy is a rare find in Manhattan. He was smokin’ hot AND well mannered. For example, even when he was in my bed, he didn’t make any assumptions about what I would or wouldn’t do. He was consistently attentive and engaged: he opened the door for me, called me beautiful repeatedly, listened intently when I spoke. It’s a shame there’s no future in it (he’s not suitable on at least a couple glaring counts, including age), but in spite of that and maybe in part because of that, I felt like I had given myself a huge treat. I gave this dieter a box of super-sumptuous, velvety chocolate. Mmmm.