As the week begins, I dread Saturday—I don’t want to meet my brother’s coworker. It’ll be the dental receptionist all over again, only this time he’s sure she’s a lesbian. Which means what, we should hook up? Just because she’s gay, too, doesn’t mean she’s my type.
Hell, I don’t even think I have a type anymore. I’m too sedentary, too set in my ways. My idea of a good time is staying home, not meeting new people. I’m perfectly happy being single, a fact my married brother can’t seem to wrap his mind around.
Monday fades into Tuesday, which melds into Wednesday, and I wait for him to pester me about Lori. I half-expect an email or from her, saying he gave her my contact information. Or maybe he’ll send me a message himself, something with anecdotes in it guaranteed to make me realize how
