Two years ago, I met a gentleman I shall henceforth call James, because his name was, well, James. James and I had a first date for the books. It lasted a full 10 hours (we’d met up for coffee at 3 p.m. on a Saturday), and we discussed everything from the rudeness inherent to chronic lateness to how we both hate the book Confederacy of Dunces. We discussed how embarrassed we both are by this latter fact.
I knew about James like you know a good dye job. Here’s the one for me, I thought. The man I’ve been looking for years. I just KNOW.
There was one little problem, however, and that was that James already had a wife.
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