One month

That's the amount of time one TD gave me. From the time I move out to the time I get married. And the marriage would be to a high school, no, primary school dropout.

Can't quite remember the logic behind all this right now. Actually, I can't get past the memory of him handing out flowers [roses?] at the pub that night. And he's not in the flowers or sales industry. What was the guy doing with all those flowers. There's something to it though. That flowers thing. We left the guy at the pub with a newly acquired friend. I don't have sufficient guts to walk into a pub with 2 bunches of flowers of some sort and offer them, or at least attempt to, to the ladies. Some of us will have to stick with "do you come here often" and "can I buy you a drink".

So it made sense at the time. A bit of sense anyway. Something about getting used to living at home and struggling to get to grips to the bachelor's life. That I would be drawn to the first person to shower attention my way. Sprinkle even. True, the first female to press the issue stands a good chance. And I don't have anything against dropouts. Not too hang up on the negative perceptions about that particular label.

It's always terrified me though, the thought of hooking up with someone. Or going gaga about them. Ever since I got asked out on a date in my pre-teen years. If and when I stop doing the running man, one month might be all it takes.