At 36, I have never had what I would consider an official boyfriend. Then nine months ago, I met a kind, thoughtful, clever, creative, driven, stable, handsome, 6’3” (I know) man on a dating app.
I feel really good about Paul. So, naturally, I’m searching for any possible hole in this floating vessel of happiness so that I can either repair it, or get this over with by tearing it open, letting the water rush in and sinking it like every other ship I’ve ever sailed.
