Well, so far, all I want to do in December, in this order, is swaddle myself in warm but unflattering sweaters, sleep, and read bestsellers.



Note that these urges do not include s*x or exercise. Or buying gifts, or continuing to work on the fluffy little book I wrote in November.



Oh yes, did I mention I wrote a book in November? Oui. Breakup Babe, the novel, if you will. Perhaps that’s why I’m feeling so lethargic this month. Anyway, all your favorite characters are there: The Doctor (remember him?), Silent But Deadly Boy, the L’il Rocklimbing Spy. And ME!



You too - O Gentle Readers – you’re in the book too! Because what would a novel about blogging be without the fellow bloggers who function like a Greek chorus for my tragicomic dating life. “Stay away from that one!” you warn. “Ohhh, go for that one even though he’s only 19!” you exclaim, trying to live vicariously through me (don’t tell me you don’t!). “BB, you’re brilliant! Beautiful!” you cry, stoking my ever-needy ego.



But back to the subject at hand. December. I have to say that despite my (relative) lack of interest in dating, I have been the victim of one set-up after another this month. Though I’ve stuffed that biological clock under my pillow, my friends must hear it ticking loud and clear – TICK TOCK! – and the sound, apparently, is torturing them, because they won’t let me alone.



“Ohh BB, you must meet Mergatroid! He is catatonic and lost all his limbs in a plane crash and is really nothing more than a head on a platter but I think you’d have a lot in common!” Etc.



So far they’ve come up with Melancholy Hipster Boy, who, yes, I continue to hang out with because of his good cheekbones, listening to tales of woe about his ex-girlfriend and his career crisis.



Then there was another set up - Morose Literary Boy -- who impressed me by asking me out to dinner promptly after our first meeting, then unimpressed me by canceling because he had a “head cold.” As if I’m gonna wait around for his a*s.



And there will be yet another one tomorrow. A setup from the boytoy of GalPal #1 – supposedly “good-looking, very funny, and a stud athlete.” Yeah right.



I suppose I shouldn’t complain. When I’m in the nursing home, old and alone, no doubt I’ll be torturing my companions with tales of my wild youth. All the upstanding young men who wanted to date me, and all the messed up men I turned them down for.



So just let me say I am grateful to all my friends who are setting me up left and right!



Even if I would rather be in bed with a bestseller, wearing a warm but unflattering sweater.