Pasta 1, Me None

 

 In case you didn't like my full name, you can call me Niko.

I am a wooden doll that bends a little more than it should. I have a lot of issues that have nothing to do with the 68 degree curve in my spine. I’m the type of person that will splurge on cleaning products if I don’t find anything else that’s interesting or pretty enough to purchase.

I have more baby lotion than a new born, and so many clothes that a walk roll-in closet wouldn’t suffice. I have a collection of children’s fairytale books and sometimes I write erotic fiction stories.

Last week, I was discussing the core of my problems with Kifli, my Hungarian Puli whom I’ve developed a close bond with. I was telling him how strange it was that dating-wise, my best friend has been practically in every continent, and how I can’t even get out of the same country!

I have had a thing for Italian guys – despite their need to live at home until they’re 45 – and strangely enough, they seem to have a thing for me too – Until they realize that picking tomatoes is maybe a little challenging for me. Pasta, 1, me, 0. 

The dating scene is new to me, because I’ve only been single a little over X, and the post-apocalyptic state I was in finished X ago when I clicked and dragged a pink electronic sticky note across the screen of my laptop.

Since then, I have decided that MAYBE Italians are not for me and my attention leans towards Eastern Europe. I’ve never been crazy about tomato sauce, anyway.