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Regular readers will know that yours portly is back on the prowl, a lonely hunter stalking the forgotten byways of twenty-first-century romance like a sleek panther ready to pounce upon an unsuspecting gazelle.
This time around I’m very much taking the approach that dating should be fun, and not something to be rushed. Despite some of my anti-femite proclamations, I very much enjoy the company of women. Yes, some of them are insufferable, and their blather about inconsequential trivialities—and their refusal to take proactive steps to improve their lives and situations—is mind-numbing. But having a good meal with an attractive and interesting woman is a pastime I relish. My general thought process these days is that, even if nothing comes of a date, it will at least have been a couple of hours of interesting conversation and delicious food.
That attitude has been somewhat liberating. Yes, I’d love to meet a good woman to wife up, but if that doesn’t happen, no big deal. With that outcome-independence—not investing emotionally or otherwise in the outcome of any given date or interaction—I have newfound confidence.
With that confidence I’ve been engaging in a challenging but very rewarding bout of cold approaching.
The Portly Politico 