Being made mostly of sadness and despair, I was going to delete my dating profile not too long ago and live a life of monk-like solitude when a message came through the ether as I slept one night. And, while most messages are from foreign women that want you to subscribe to their pornographic websites, this response seemed to be from a real enough person.
Even though I was mildly suspicious—and I probably always will be—I proceeded anyway to contact her anyway, talking for a few days on the phone as a slight precaution; things went well enough, so much so that we decided to try our hand at going out on a date, meeting for dinner at Oso Paseo, 603 NW 28th St., over in, of course, the Paseo.
After saying hello to the large bear that stands outside the window, we were seated at a table in the middle of the place that, for the most part, made me feel like a bloated ant trapped under an imaginary microscope; regardless, I still felt more at ease than I had in a long time. I guess that, after the last year I had, the fact that I basically showed up for the food was good enough.