climbing trees or basically acting like a monkey...

i used to love climbing trees, i was such a tomboy... always with scraped up knees and holes in my jeans. i was the youthful equivalent of a monkey... constantly upside down, building tree forts, running amuk (as it were) and engaging in general tomfoolery (isn't that such a great word btw?).

so it's fitting now, in my later years of ladylike behavior (guffaw) that i analogize dating tall men with climbing trees. i'm sorry but i'm TALL. on a good day i'm almost 5'10" and in 87% of the shoes that i own, i'm 6 feet tall. so if you aren't at LEAST six feet tall, it's just not going to work... it's not. there will be no romance, i will never imagine you scooping me up by the back pockets of my jeans and slamming me up against a wall (overshare perhaps?? bygones), and i will not be made to feel petite and protected. because really, even at glamazon height, we want to feel protected.

so last night i had a first date with an actual tree, and it felt great to walk down the sidewalk arm in arm, with my shoulders and neck comfortably fitting into the nook like i belonged there. i... LOVED... it. dinner was quite lovely, we ate at the rocking horse cafe in chelsea, really interesting and well done upscale mexican food... and just about the strongest margarita i've ever had. they had pear, so of course i ordered the pear. but really, a pear (or the essence of pear in the case of this margarita) did nothing to mask the taste of tequila, so really it was like drinking one nonstop frozen shot of cuervo. and you know what? i loved every minute of it.

i'm off in search of coffee (or as one friend mocks, how can i possibly be searching for it if there's a starbucks on every corner), and tomorrow remind me to talk about my obsession with babywipes. i don't want to forget.

carry on...