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HoneyBunch, Chapter One

I met my husband on the Internet, eHarmony to be exact.  I joined the site to find a date, maybe some romance, but I ended up with something much better – a husband. I wasn’t looking for one, but I am not complaining either.

I had been single for several years and loved my independence. I dated often in the beginning. Friends set me up on blind dates, and others were old friends who asked me out themselves. I was never very good at this game, so my dating pool had dried up. I felt God had blessed me once with a husband and family, so I was in no hurry to date or get serious with anyone. If I got asked out, good; if not, okay. I embraced my singledom.

But then things started to change that made me rethink my attitude.

One, my wardrobe: I was slowly replacing my size 8's with elastic waistbands, comfy cardigans, and beltless dresses, and my sexy heels gathered dust while I wore out the sensible crepe soles. Two, I started naming my pillows. Yeah, they had names, so what? Three, I was eating Pop Tarts for dinner and chasing them down with a glass of Roscato.

I was slowly becoming that eccentric great-aunt who lives alone that everyone talks about at Thanksgiving (sans the cat - I don't like cats). 

When eHarmony showed up in my Spam and offered me three months for the price of one, I had nothing to lose. The worst possible scenario – nothing would happen, no dates. But my pillows and I would have something exciting to chat about in the wee hours of the night. The best possible scenario (I was shooting low here) – a date, one, something to write about in my old spinster diary.

So I paid my dues and took their long 29 Dimensions of Compatibility tests . . . .

To Be Continued.








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