I went on a date tonight.

I know. Me. A date. After what, two years of pure celibacy? Not even so much as a kiss!

Freaky.

This was the third date, actually.

He's nice. He's determined. He's a little bit kinky, and open to a lot of things. We have a lot in common, which is nice, and he falls on the better side of average looking (which, in my opinion, is perfect; I don't like dating super hot men because my hormones get in the way of my brains).

I dunno. I'm still moving to England. So there's that.

He's fully aware of the situation.

We went out for ice cream. He had pistachio and pineapple-poppyseed. I had balsamic vinegar.

(I'm not kidding. It was great. I love balsamic.)

He kissed me anyway. He said I didn't taste like vinegar, but he totally tasted like pineapple, so I think he's a liar.

We talked about the weirdest places we'd had sex. Why my insides are all mutated (who knows). Comic conventions. Lego.

I dunno. England. Man.

I dunno.

He kissed me goodbye on the train platform, and I liked it. He's just the right height for kissing, for a tall girl like me.

.

Rosie.

Before&After