Right before I started writing this column, I broke up with Patrick. Doesn’t seem like a big deal (and in the scheme of things, it’s not; it wasn’t) but Patrick was the first guy in almost three years that I really (really) liked.
Or at least, I thought I did. In fact, I thought he could be a significant someone in my life, especially after our nearly 24-hour first date seemed to be a sign that there were really good things to come with this tall, handsome, stock-trading Greek. But like most plot lines in my dating life, I had to wear my rose-colored glasses long enough to get blinded, and finally see the truth.


