diecinueve / nineteen / dix-neuf

On Wednesday, I had a date with Tom at Ciao Bella in Edina. We shared several so-so appetizers — large helpings of shredded zucchini, bruschetta and spring rolls — and after an hour, the date wrapped and I headed to the gym. I had skipped vino at dinner and thus had a great, detoxifying workout, mixing an hour of cardio (the only time I allow myself to watch “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” on Bravo) with light weights, lunges, an assortment of sit-ups and some Jillian Michaels moves that I was probably doing all wrong. I headed home and by the time I had showered, checked my email and cleaned up my apartment, it was well past 10:00 p.m. I was flipping through Facebook updates and StumbleUpon when I realized that I wasn’t hungry at all. Rather odd considering that I hadn’t eaten since my teensy lunch of Progresso soup, which was, I counted backwards, more than 10 hours ago. Crazy weird! I’d normally being shaking and oh-so-crabby after such a long famine. I peered into my refrigerator to see if anything looked appetizing, for surely I needed to eat at least something before bed… Oh. Ohhhhh. Right. Yep, I had already eaten dinner at Ciao Bella.

And that, ladies and gents, was my date with Tom.

And now on to someone who has had better success than me — from the November 11th edition of The New York Times:

“He used a semicolon correctly; that was reason enough to get a drink with him”

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