On the hunt

To be so singularly obsessed with finding a man is a sad thing. To be desperate an even sadder thing. I have been free of a meaningful and fulfilling relationship for about 4 months now. Before that, it was almost a year. The brief interruption was a wonderful man, with whom I meshed quite well. But distance, lack of initiative, and scheduling ruined what was an otherwise good thing.

I am still on the hunt. I can’t help but think of it like that; its what it feels like. To stalk the wild prey of that perfect man in the wilds of daily life seem to be an all too apt description. Peering from behind the trees, I see a herd of them grazing at the watering hole. Creeping stealthily, panther-like through the grass, never blinking. I spring, and they scatter. Running screaming into the woods from the putrid stench of desperation and Chanel no.5. Ok, so I don’t wear Chanel, but you get the idea.

He’s out there. Sleek coated, intelligent, and one of Darwin’s chosen few. I’ve got my tranquilizer darts, rope, and net. Now where the hell is he…