Twenty-One is still too young.

I knew that things could never work out between us, simply because our first dinner date was at the Olive Garden in Westwood. Authentic Italian Meals watered down for the American Palate, the promise of which, unleashes all things mediocre.

Plastic Ranch dressing, plastic flavored pasta preceded tawdry sex, wherein the agespan was 15 years--my largest stretch yet. A 21 year-old boy has much in store, on the way to becoming a 35 year-old. The evening grinded to a halt. I changed the sheets for this? I shaved my head for this?

Maybe I just haven't found the right 21 year-old.