The Over-Educated Nympho

I am very excited about my blind date on Tuesday night. We’ve pretty much agreed to be friends with benefits already and the “date” is just a formality, one final chance to say “ooooooooooh you know what? I think this is a mistake… yeeeeeah. Gotta go. Wasn’t expecting the goiter.”

Although I very seriously doubt we won’t feel the chemistry. I think it’s more likely that a cute little leprachaun named Biggie O’Toole will come by and look up my skirt and tell me I need a pinch because–shame on me!–I’m not wearing green underwear, at which point my new lust-interest will shoo him away and look up my skirt himself and then reprimand me in the appropriate manner for wearing anything at all underneath.

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It looks like I found myself a friends-with-benefits situation. A very very promising FWB. Our blind date is in a couple days. A mutual friend who got sick of my “damn, I need to get laid” comments put us in touch with each other. We’ve been emailing and talking on the phone for the last week. He’s cool and more importantly funny as hell, and we all know that’s the best way to get in my pants.

We had “the talk” last night. You know, the “all fun no committment all sex” conversation. It was a damn fine conversation, the memory of which will be keeping me occupied for the entire drive back home tomorrow–as if thinking about him the entire way up yesterday weren’t enough to have me squirming in my seat.