Within 72 hours of being in L. We had connected the old-fashioned way ā via the League App ā and despite being shorter than expected, he got better looking as the night went on.
We laughed, drank and kissed, and when he asked for my number, he already had it in his phone. Forty-eight hours later, we were playing hooky from work in favor of boozy Avra lunch. The next day flowers came addressed to my dog. By Friday night, we were making inside jokes at Spago.
I was used to dating really handsome men. She wanted to plan a wedding. My cousin, an L. But I had recently met a scientist on eHarmony and thought there might be a connection.
Our lives commingled. I had as much clothing in his closet as in my own. He invited me to France, talked about when he would propose, and asked what I liked in rings. I wanted this to work. All the other boxes were checked. Could I wear rubber? I tried to negotiate. All bets were off when I took cheap red pleather underwear and a bra with horse bits out of a silk bag.
This was not me. What happens to your dating life in Los Angeles when you always swipe right? I found out thanks to a series of first dates mostly with tragic men. My jaw remained slack. This is mild. They sell it in a mall. This was Los Angeles ā everything was sold in a mall of some kind.
