Finished With Frogs

It seems I am eminently kissable. It just happens. In a sense, then, I am kissing and telling, but I'm not naming names. So don't even pretend to ask. Approximately twice a year when I am out with a friend or friends, I meet a man. Sometimes we are introduced by mutuals, other times we meet in passing. And before the evening is through we end up kissing. Once the smooching commenced five minutes into our brief relationship. Twice, I think liplock occurred midway through the evening. Most of the time, though, the kiss is more towards closing time. Two of them I spent quite a bit of time with and got to know them pretty well. Well enough, alas, to discover they were not the one. While they were all younger than me, one of them was near my age, the rest had ages ranging on down to the mid-twenties. It's flattering and reassuring to feel attractive and approachable. And it's fun. But it occurred to me just last night what was wrong with this picture. They were all frogs. Even the ones I had developed some sort of expectation of a relationship with turned out to be disappointing. Not that I was looking for a prince, just a hope for something meaningful. The thing is, I'm not an instant gratification kind of girl. I enjoy the process of things. To some degree I find it enjoyable to delay gratification. I like the idea of being won over. Wooed. Courted. And I feel like I'm in a place emotionally where this could happen. I'm not talking playing hard to get or making him jump through hoops to get my attention. I'm talking romance, if such a thing still exists. I'm looking forward to the protracted, delicious agony of anticipation. If you ask me, it sounds better than kissing another frog.