I want to date him so hard.

Biceps and I have been rather busy for several weeks. It seems as though we are two ships passing in the night. Something’s gotta give.

I promised a “death till I part” and I meant it. Plus, there isn’t a single soul out there better suited for me, more willing to put up with my weirdness and more good looking than this specimen.

He even looks good eating pizza. Shoot, he looks good even when he doesn’t look good.

I think it’s time for me to take the bull by the horns, plan a date and quit waiting for him to have the time to do so. The man is working his buns off to provide a roof over my head.

When God blesses you with such amazing handsomeness, it’s no time to stand idly by. I’m thinking we need to Netflix a Rick Steve’s-the Amalfi Coast episode possibly, mix up some bruschetta and light some candles.

You know what I mean.

Why leave it up to him to plan all the romantic shin-digs? It’s time to get in the driver’s seat. Vroom.