another steve, or: i'm in love. with the after school program director.

this is it. the Real Thing. dunzo. i'm marrying him. he's perfect. walk in looking like i've spent the night in an alleway and he's standing there all golden and clean, looking like he runs orphanages in places like calcutta and jo-burg. he looks at me like he's going to solve all my problems before he leaves to surf indonesia.

i want to say: Hello, I have two darling children that I'd like to enroll. instead, i anxiously fold my arms over the almond butter stain one of the darlings left smeared on my shirt and say after an uncomfortable pause: Help. he looks at me, grins, talks about the program. this is what he loves to do. if he could do it for free he would. that building next door? he's buying it; he's expanding.

i nod, i half-listen, i wonder if it's too soon to ask him over for wine and story-time.

he's telling me they do yoga once a week. i don't do yoga (it makes me panic), but it still makes me swoon.

then, he's telling me that he travels (as if i didn't know), had been in thailand recently.... with his girlfriend.

a sound escapes, a disappointed moan.

'i mean, with my girlfriend at the time.'

cue the freakish julia roberts mega watt smile.

two dimpled, cherubic girls run up shouting Daddy.

'they're your children,' i tell him accusingly.

'no, they're just goofballs.' the girls attach themselves to his limbs. he smiles indulgently. they say, ' we just WISH he was our daddy.'

jesus christ. a destination wedding--scotland. castles. bagpipes. this is the romantic comedy of the year, the love story of the season.