Fork In The Road

There's a fork in the road, and I feel inept. Which route should I take? Neither one seems easy. Neither one is clearly defined. There's smoke, and debris, and the signs are confusing. I have travelled so many roads, and yet I have never felt so inexperienced, so at a loss. I'm tempted to toss a coin, and let luck decide. And yet deep down I know which path I really want to take. And which one I should.

It's a fork in the road - this battle between what is sensible and safe, and what is emotional and unknown.

There's a fork in the road, and I have never changed my mind so many times. Never before have I weighed the pros and cons, and deliberated over the signs and possibilities of what might be... of what could be... of what probably WILL be...

There's a fork in the road, and no real need for a quick decision. But the urgency is bubbling within me... slowly simmering to a boiling point. The need to react is overpowering. But I'm not quite ready to choose.

Under his spell...

Anyone who knows me, or has read even ONE of my blog entries knows that I'm a little... strange. So my next confession will hopefully not surprise anyone too much (I hope).

It's no secret that I am at that age when dating, or the idea of dating, or the view that I should be dating (or in some schools of thought, married and with child) is supposed to be at the forefront of everyone's minds. I know it sounds like an exaggeration when I say 'everyone', but when people you met five minutes back begin tsking at my singular status (can I say that?), it seems like the universe and all divinity, and sceptics of the above are very intent on finding me a man even if I will not do it myself - especially since I am not doing it myself. I'm no longer affronted at how everyone and his (or her) mother's nose is in my dating business. REALLY. Well, on most days anyway.

So for those on the prowl on my behalf, I guess there is something you really need to know. And no, it's not that I'm secretly a nun, or into women - that I know of... What I'm about to reveal is a trait I find absolutely necessary in a man. So much so that even if the most gorgeous Adonis with the brains of Einstein and the wit of Russell Peters and the wealth of Bill Gates were to be a contender as my better half (hey while I'm dreaming might as well aim high), and yet NOT possess this particular trait, it would be a deal breaker. And I am very serious about this. Seriously serious.

Look, I'm no paragon of anything really. But I love the written word (in English - my linguistic skills are minimal), and a man who respects it is a real turn on. I can just see the confusion in your face (quit scrunching up your forehead, you'll wrinkle easier). Let me expound: Good grammar makes me go weak at the knees. Impeccable spelling will bring out the stars in my eyes. I know, I know, there isn't a type of therapy that has been invented yet that would work on me. But this is the honest truth. My man has to be able to spell, and construct good sentences.

Phew. There! I got it out!

In this world of highly abbreviated, speedy text messaging and instant messaging and all the ways in which we try to save precious time, I appreciate the special few who take the time to spell words whole and write sentences fully. To me, this trend of abbreviating everything is sacrilege.

So, please... if you're on the manhunt for me, get me someone who can spell - and I might just be putty in his arms!