Me: So, how was your date?
Friend: Fine. It was just fine. He's super nice. And cute. And brought us a bottle of red for the waiter to make sangria 'cause I said I like sangria. I just don't want him to take my dress off.
Me: That's OK, honey. He doesn't have to.
Friend: Yeah, I don't think I'm going to go out with him again.
Laundry list of amazing qualities. Perfection on paper. But we repeatedly find ourselves saying, "Ehh. I'd rather sit at home with my dog eating Greek yogurt while watching another episode of The Bachelor." I wish I had an answer. I do. But I can't help but think — it's no wonder that Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda were single well into their 30s. Then again, Carrie was neurotic, Samantha was a slut, Charlotte a prude and Miranda, well... poor Miranda.
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