Don't drink and text. Even on the cusp of forty, I had to learn that the hard way. After discovering my best friend, who I was supposed to grow old and single with, got engaged, I drowned my loneliness in one too many Old Fashioneds and woke up with thirty-nine responses from every available man in my phone. Yup, I even texted my plumber.and he turned me down. Apparently, my liquor-infused text said that while I don't need a man, maybe I'd be down for a constant sidekick for movies, plus-one invites, and dinner on the table after my grueling shifts as a concierge doctor-till death do us part.and was anyone in? Through the absolute mortification of thirty-seven rejections, shockingly, I realize two men have said yes. Behind Bachelor Door #1 is Rob, my old high school crush: the comfortable, dependable boy-next-door. Behind Bachelor Door #2 is Darius, the exciting, flashy news reporter about to hit it big. Does this mean I'll have to get out of my yoga pants and actually go on dates now?
