“Finally! An Unexpected Love Story” Will Be Released on October 12th!

finally front cover

I am excited to announce that Finally! An Unexpected Love Story is being released!

Finally! An Unexpected Love Story is the sequel to my hilarious misadventures in online dating book, Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.

It’s a “He Said/She Said” book about the funny, offbeat, and often challenging courtship between my co-author, L. E. Hewitt, and me, Suzanne Purewal. Our quirky and sarcastic senses of humor will have you laughing out loud.

Imagine if you will,
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The Sound of Silence

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     Hello, friends! Welcome to another “Mis-Matched to Miss Match” episode. I know you were hoping this would be a good news post because I have not written in some time. Sadly, that is not the case.
     The subject of today’s blog is a handsome 42-year-old professional. He was downright yummy. He was intelligent and funny, and we hit it off wonderfully. At the beginning, he was attentive and eager to please. He even sang to me while we slow danced. I was in heaven. It was a romantic dream come true! Slow dancing and singing! Just imagine it! Continue reading

Just Say, “No!”

no     Welcome to my first 2015 installment of my online dating series, “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” According to online dating statistics, January 4th is the biggest sign-up day for their sites. That gave me a new glimmer of hope. Although, so far, Indianapolis’ bachelors seem to be singing the same old song – same tune, just different words.

     The initial contact email from one guy read, “My view of your profile indicates we are a 97% match. If we were any more alike, you would have strong biceps and I would have boobs.”
     I have to assume he thought I would find that funny. He guessed wrong. I could not find words to reply. I take that back. I did have words. I just did not want to engage him in conversation. Any guy that uncouth in an introductory email did not deserve a reply.

     A retired sales executive, who was out of my desired age range, contacted me and said he did not have pets and thought we were a perfect match. His profile indicated he was a cigar aficionado and ultimate sun worshiper. So, I had my doubts.
     Among other questions, I inquired, “How often do you smoke?”
     He replied, “I don’t smoke. Well, occasionally, a stogie and of course pot.”
     Of course pot???
     This is not Colorado or Amsterdam, the last time I checked. This man was in his late 50s. He was not some punk kid or Olympian gold medalist, Michael Phelps.
     “I don’t do drugs and will not date anyone who does. So if getting high is part of your life, then this is where our conversation ends.”
     And that was the end of that.

     The next bachelor’s email claimed he was a gemologist from New York City. He went on about how the family business takes him all over the world.
     Not interested, I replied, “You live over 700 miles away. So I’m not sure why you’re looking in Indiana. Logistically, it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not looking for a long distance relationship.”
     “If I find the right woman, I shall relocate to be closer to her or even live in the same house with her.”
     Oh, I bet you would like living off of a woman, wouldn’t you?
     “No. Best of luck to you.”
     “It will interest you to know that I have been thinking of you all day and I really want this to work between us and as of the distance that shouldn’t be a problem because like I said earlier that I shall be relocating closer to you. All what I need now to bail myself out of financial struggle is just 25,000 dollars and I have 21,000 already what I need is 4000 can you help me YES or NO no long mails and explanation.”
     “NO!”
     Wow! It’s bad enough that he was trying to swindle me out of money, but to demand an answer immediately, with no explanation, that’s so ridiculous. Apparently, he was an impatient thief and did not want to waste time if he wasn’t going to get a payoff. I hoped I would not hear from this scammer again. No such luck.
      “Why the silent? A friend in salt lake want to transfer me money into account but I can not access my account here so I was thinking if they can transfer the money into your account when you get it, you will send it to me using western union the amount is about 5000 or 6000 can you help me? I need money urgently here in Turkey to get out of here.”
     Turkey can have you!
     The fatal flaw in this scammer’s logic is that the friend could send the money via Western Union. I think it could be a ring of foreign thieves because the English in the initial communication was good. It went downhill with each subsequent exchange. Who knows.
     It worries me that some people might be gullible enough to fall for this scam. I reported him, but his profile and any trace of him were gone.
     Beware of low-life scammers! They are everywhere!

     After talking for the good part of a week, I went to dinner with a project manager from the south side of Indianapolis. I liked that he preferred talking to texting. I found that encouraging. When we met, I realized he was a little bit country, and I was a little bit rock and roll. He seemed uncomfortable and out of his element at the restaurant. But he was polite, and we had a nice time. I was hemming and hawing about whether to go on another date with him.
     The following day, I received a text from an unknown number.
     “Why the f*** do you have my f***ing number saved? Get out of here and leave me and him’s relationship ALONE. Bye now.”
     It was followed by an emoticon of an expressive hand. Use your imagination.
     Huh? Nice mouth! And me and him’s??
     I felt bad for the poor, functionally illiterate woman with the cheating boyfriend.
     Believing it was a wrong number, I replied, “I have no idea who you are or who you’re talking about. I think you have the wrong number.”
     No response.
     About an hour later, I got a call from the guy. “I’m sorry, but I’m not over my ex. Just wanted to let you know. I’m gonna take myself off Match. I shouldn’t date until I’m over her. Sorry.”
     Are you kidding me?
     Maybe it wasn’t a wrong number after all. I could not believe it. The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I became. He used me to make his ex jealous. Wow! That was a new low.

     The next bachelor also liked talking on the phone. We met at a café. He appeared nervous and claimed he had butterflies in his stomach about meeting me or possibly it was a lactose intolerance problem. Okay, no big deal.
     However, about an hour into our conversation, which was pretty one-sided, he departed for the bathroom. Upon returning, he announced he was really sick, the “I need to spend the day in the bathroom” kind of sick. He confessed he had been ill since the previous day.
     I wished him well, literally, and we parted ways.
     What kind of person shows up sick to a first date? It was a complete and utter lack of respect and common courtesy.
     People, if you are sick, stay home and reschedule!
     He contacted me days later to say that he did not remember anything about our date or what we discussed. He said he remembered he liked me and my cleavage, but that was all. He wanted another date.
     Um, no. My cleavage and I think not.

     I have no rational explanation for why the men in this area are so relationship-challenged. If anyone has a theory, then I’m all ears. Better yet, if you know of a decent single guy, send him my way. The Law of Averages dictates there has to be some decent guys out there somewhere!

Copyright © 2015 by Suzanne Purewal

Fright or Delight?

     My quest to find a good, decent man is becoming epic in length. But I refuse to give up! So, here is the latest and greatest in my “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” dating saga.

     There once was a man who was prolific in poem and prose.
     He had a quick wit. Let’s meet. Why not? Who knows?
     Alas, his memory was lacking, he called me by the wrong name,
     Despite me correcting him over and over. How totally lame.
     Was this other woman his ex-girlfriend or an ex-wife?
     I cared not, for I was cutting him out of my life.

     The next eager bachelor was an eHarmonious man
     Who unfortunately decided to try a product to self-tan.
     Since he was not an Oompa Loompa, orange was an awful hue.
     Why he did not realize this while looking in the mirror, I have no freaking clue.
     However, it was his obnoxious behavior that upset me the most.
     Being rude and insensitive caused him to end up as a jerk in this post.

     Then there was a guy who promised me a special surprise.
     When the big reveal occurred, I could hardly believe my eyes.
     If I was watching a horror movie, I would have yelled for the girl to run.
     Touring ramshackle buildings buried deep in the woods is not my idea of fun.
     Any chemistry that might have existed was extinguished pretty fast.
     What a huge letdown after being psyched up for an absolute blast.

     After each date, to Mom, the obligatory email I did write,
     So she wouldn’t be pacing the floor half of the night,
     Worried that I was dead in a ditch or suffering an even worse fate.
     “Home safe and sound.” Another zero of a date.
     “A total waste of makeup,” is what I eventually would type.
     It sums up the evening well without painfully boring details or hype.

     So that, gentle readers, is all I have to tell.
     Perhaps the month of October will cast an enchanting spell.
     Could the eclipse of the blood moon help me find my “Mr. Right?”
     Or will it bring more ghouls and goblins to give me an awful fright?
     Those are the questions that I seek the answers for.
     Stay tuned, my friends, you never know what’s in store!

Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal

Saddle Up!

     I try to read my friends’ blogs as much as I can. And I have to admit I was quite surprised by one friend’s blog. “Why?” you ask. Because Michael wrote about me. It caught me completely off-guard. As I read it, I laughed, I blushed, and at times, I wanted to cry. Thank you, Michael!

     I received many emails and messages from guys wishing they were cowboys, based on my last “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched” episode. Several were laugh out loud funny. One guy wanted to take me line dancing and then saddle up and ride off into the sunset with me. Another wanted to be Roy Rogers to my Dale Evans. One even wanted to demonstrate his rope tricks. Um, yikes! No!

     Most mentioned riding off on horses. Apparently, they missed the part where I’m allergic to animals. I have two words – reading comprehension. Sheesh.

     Michael’s piece was by far the best thing I read regarding this subject. So, I am posting the link to it. It really is a must-read. Not because it’s about me, because it’s really, really good.

Here’s the link to “Dang!” http://moejoemojo.wordpress.com/2014/04/25/dang/

Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal

The Old Bait and Switch

     This is the 4th installment of Mis-Matched to Miss Matched. You always hear men complain about women who post old pictures of themselves on dating sites. Well, I’m here to tell you, men do it too.
     Although I usually go for the nerdy type, I decided to throw caution to the wind and give Bachelor #15, a professional athlete, a try. He sent me a poem about rose petals and the morning dew before we met. Not bad, but not great. I gave him kudos for the effort and agreed to meet him.
     His profile stated he was 48 years old and a non-smoker. The pictures might have been from when he was 48, but he ended up being 58. And he definitely smoked. Why smokers think they can hide their smoking from non-smokers, I will never know. We know. We always know.
     I asked why he lied about his age.
     “Would you have agreed to meet me if I said I was 58?”
     “Honestly, no.”
     “That’s why I lied.”
     “Well, unfortunately, that makes me wonder what else you’re lying about. You lied about smoking too.”
     “So, you have trust issues?”
     “Only with people who lie to me.”
     “Everybody lies.”
     “No, not everybody does.”
     “You’re kidding yourself. Everybody lies.”
     “I’m talking about important things. There’s a big difference between telling a friend her butt doesn’t look big in her new dress when you’re already at a cocktail party and lying about facts, like your age, if you smoke and if you’re really divorced.”
     “I am divorced.”
     “So, one out of three isn’t bad in your book?”
     He smirked.
     “What if I had done the same to you?”
     He appeared annoyed with my question.
     “Seriously. What if I showed up and was ten years older than I said I was?”
     He muttered, “I’d be pissed.”
     “There you go! So, you don’t like to be lied to either.”
     He tossed back the remainder of his drink. “I’m not getting laid tonight am I?”
     Shaking my head in disbelief, I respond, “Not unless you pick up someone on a corner on your way home.”
     On that note, he got up, threw some cash on the table to cover our drinks and left.
     Strike three. He’s out!

     The next contender was a salesman who advertised his age as 49. He turned out to be 54. The ironic thing was that he looked better in person. A lot better.
     “Why don’t you have a more current picture posted?”
     “I figure if someone likes me heavier and with gray hair, then they’ll like me thinner with darker hair.”
     “So it’s like a test?”
     “Yes.”
     “Interesting.”
     “Interesting good or interesting bad?”
     “The jury’s still out.”
     “You’re funny.”
     I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was trying to figure him out. So, I asked him to tell me about himself.
     Big mistake. He droned on and on about all of the “important people” he knew. He dropped so many names that I tripped over them. But he didn’t have any stories about doing anything with them. Boring with a capital “B.”
     My theory is that he hangs out at St. Elmo’s on big event nights and introduces himself to everyone who walks in the door. That would explain how he “knows” the rich and famous.
     When he wasn’t bragging about the people he knew, he pointed out his designer clothes and how he only wore the very best. He proceeded to rattle off all of his favorite designers and stores.
     Okay, I’ll admit that I watch Project Runway. I’m familiar with high-end designers and fashion. I’ve shopped in the boutiques and stores in New York City, and I own a few nice designer items. But I don’t talk about them, ad nauseam. Sheesh.
     Bachelor #16 never got around to asking me much of anything. So, that was the end of that. The jury’s verdict is in: Guilty of being a boastful, materialistic, narcissistic jerk.

     Bachelor #17 was a 46-year-old entrepreneur who owned multiple residences in several states. We had a great deal in common. At 99%, we were almost a perfect match according to Match.com’s algorithm. He was a thin, handsome man, with a full head of black wavy hair and a smile that could knock you over.
     No coffee or drinks for this guy. He went straight for dinner. A girl has to eat, so I agreed.
     As I entered the restaurant, I searched for the dashing man in the pictures. Imagine my surprise when instead, I was greeted by an 80-pound heavier Mr. Comb-Over. The smile was still there. Thank God for small favors.
     After chatting for a few minutes, he revealed that his pictures were from ten years ago. All I could think about was shaving his head. The comb-over look is wrong on any man. Period.
     Our date went well. He was easy to talk to, and we had no shortage of topics to discuss. At the end of the evening, he insisted on buying my books. So, I signed copies for him, and we agreed on a second date.
     The second date went just as nicely as the first. He gushed over my poetry book. He even started quoting some of my work. How refreshing that a man was taking a genuine interest in me.
     After that date, he started reciting other people’s poetry to me over the phone. Then the texts started. Lots of texts. Late at night. First, it was rambling poetry. Then, it morphed into sexting. Obsessive sexting. I told him to stop. He didn’t. His sexting became more graphic. It gave me the creeps. I told him I was done and not to contact me again.
     He was hurt and didn’t understand why.
     I did not want to upset this creepy, obsessive, stalker kind of guy. So I told him he reminded me of my ex-husband and left it at that.
     He bought my story, hook, line and sinker, and left me alone. Thank you, God!

     Bachelor #18 was a doctor. We were the same age. Match decided we were a 100% match. Imagine my mom’s reaction being something like, “Oh, a doctor! I hope this one works out.”
     The doctor and I chatted on the phone and agreed to meet for coffee. Since I don’t drink coffee, I ordered hot chocolate.
     He was shier than I had anticipated. And he wore a Panama Jack style hat that he never removed. A wee bit eccentric, perhaps. But I’m used to eccentric. The conversation went pretty well, but he had to leave after an hour. We agreed to meet again.
     The next time, it was for a drink. And again, only for exactly one hour. My instincts were telling me something was rotten in Denmark.
     And sure enough, I was right. After some relentless questioning, he admitted he wasn’t divorced. He was meeting with me when he should have been watching his son play soccer.
     Slime ball. “So, you’re a liar, a cheater and a lousy father? What a sad excuse of a man you are. You’re despicable.”
     “And I guess you’re little Miss Perfect?”
     “I’ll be the first one to admit that I’m not perfect. But I don’t tolerate cheating, and I don’t date married men.”
     I wished that my glass had been full. I could have made a dramatic exit by throwing the contents in his face and storming out. Alas, there wasn’t a drop remaining. So, I just grabbed my purse and left.

     Bachelor #19’s profile indicated he lived in Indianapolis. We hit it off over the phone. He asked to meet somewhere around South Bend.
     “That’s almost three hours away. We can wait until you’re back in town to get together.”
     “Um. I live in Chicago.”
     “Your profile says you live in Indy.”
     “Yeah, I can’t find anyone nice in Chicago.”
     Really?? “Chicago is a huge city. And it has tons of suburbs. I think you need to try a little harder to find someone in your area.”
     “Nope. I’ve looked. There isn’t anybody.”
     Red flags are popping up everywhere. If this guy can’t find someone in all of Chicago and the surrounding areas, something is seriously wrong with him. “I’m sorry, but I don’t do long distance relationships.”
     “You could move up here. I’ve got a nice place. You could stay with me.”
     Riiiiight. Not on your life, buddy. I watch CSI and Criminal Minds. “I’m not going anywhere. Good luck to you.”

     A 28-year-old salesman was pitiful Bachelor #20. His profile stated he lived in Dayton, OH.
     “I’d like to meet you for coffee sometime.”
     “Sorry, I don’t do long distance relationships.”
     “I live in Castleton, IN.”
     “So, do you work in Dayton?”
     “I work in Indy.”
     “If you live in Castleton and work in Indy, why are you saying you live in Dayton?”
     “I don’t want my coworkers to see me on here.”
     “Why? If they’re on Match too, what’s the big deal?”
     “Idk. I’m embarrassed.” (Idk is “I don’t know” for you non-texting readers.)
     “That makes no sense. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You need to update your city, or you are never going to find a match.”
     “I’m afraid they’ll make fun of me.”
     Wow, kid. You need to grow a set. “Forget about your coworkers. If they make fun of you, they’re not your friends. Change your city.”
     “I’ll think about it.”
     “You need to surround yourself with positive, supportive people. You need to do something to boost your self-confidence, or you’re going to get eaten alive out there. That pertains to your business and personal relationships. Whatever your story, you need to get your head on straight. It will make a world of difference.”
     “You seem nice and smart. Will you meet me?”
     “No. You’re too young anyway. Change your city, and hang out with positive people.”
     “Thx.”
     “You’re welcome. Best of luck.”

     The more dates and interactions I have, I realize that I should have gone into psychology. These guys need serious help.
     Here’s some free advice for everyone—be honest. It is the best policy.

     Oh well, back to site I go. Stay tuned for the next episode, “Doctors and Chemists and Cowboys, Oh My!”

Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal

Searching For Mrs. Robinson

the graduate    Welcome to the third installment of “Mis-Matched to Miss Matched.” If you missed the first two installments, this series is about my adventures on the Match.com dating website. The subjects for this post were younger than most. I debated whether I should entitle this article, “Searching for Mrs. Robinson” or “Hot for Teacher.” Initially, I wanted to call this “Hot for Teacher.” But the more I wrote, the more I liked “Searching for Mrs. Robinson.”

     You could tell Bachelor #11 was trouble by his profile picture—an all-American boy with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You know the kind—trouble with a capital “T.”  I refer to him as a “boy” because he was a 24-year-old college student, and technically, I am old enough to be his mother.
     “Came across your photo. Couldn’t resist. Please give me your number.”
     “Sorry, but I think you should look for someone more age appropriate.”
     “I don’t mind. Give me your number.”
     “Well, I do mind. You should find someone your own age.”
     “No, you’re what I’m looking for. You’d make a good teacher, I bet.”
     “I’m not interested in teaching you anything, except for, possibly, manners.”
     “That sounds kinky. Give me your number.”
     Sheesh. “I wasn’t trying to be coy. I’m not interested. Good luck finding a match.”
     “What’s coy?”
     “Find a dictionary and look it up.”
     “Are you a librarian? Do you wear those tight skirts and your hair up? I’d like that.”
     I’m sure you would. “I’m not interested. Good luck finding a match.”

     Next up was Bachelor #12, a 35-year-old consultant.
     “How are you? I am hesitant to reach out to you. Mainly because I am putting myself in a position to be ridiculed and/or rejected. But, my hope is that you will respect my candor and honesty, as opposed to being offended.”
     “Well, you haven’t offended me yet. And I appreciate candor and honesty. So, go ahead.”
     “I really haven’t been very active in the dating scene and/or on this site. So, I found myself wondering ‘why am I on this site?’ the other day. I truly couldn’t answer that question, lol. However, I think I’ve realized that I want something new, exciting, and…not boring. I want to meet a woman at least 5 years outside of my age bracket, who is interested in a professional, vibrant, intellectual, witty, younger man.”
     “You have piqued my interest. I don’t mind dating a younger man. So, that’s not an issue. And I definitely agree that a relationship should be exciting, not boring.”
     “Now, here’s the catch. I’m not wanting a serious relationship. Not dead-set against it, but just not prioritizing it. I am very focused on my career and have goals to accomplish (just as you do, I’m sure). In all honesty, I’d love to meet a woman who craves and desires a younger man…even if she’s never been with one. I have a feeling that ‘older’ women appreciate a younger man’s intimacy, so long as he is energetic, passionate, and unselfish….oh, and privy to what will make her feel ‘euphoric’. Actually, that last one should probably be a pre-req for both sides, lol.”
     Euphoric? Well, who wouldn’t want to feel euphoric? And when was the last time any man wanted to make me happy, let alone euphoric?
     I reread his reply again, just to make sure I understood him clearly. But, then I got distracted by the whole “energetic, passionate, unselfish” bit. If any woman deserved a man who was energetic, passionate and unselfish, it was me. Visions of satin sheets, rose petals and candles flooded my mind. Then, I read it again for good measure.
     I have to admit that was the best soliloquy I’ve read that boils down to, “I just want to have sex. And I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
     And while I attempted to entertain the idea of this euphoric opportunity for a split second, my mother’s voice was screaming in my head, loud and clear. “Are you crazy? Have you completely lost your mind?!?”
     Fear not, Mom. I want to be in a serious relationship, not be some young stud’s booty call. And in all honesty my friends, I did not want to endure the inevitable, extremely awkward lecture from my mother. So, you’re asking, “Why on earth would you tell your mother?”
     I wouldn’t have to tell anybody. If Mr. Booty Call lived up to expectations, I am guessing everyone who saw me or spoke to me would notice my new, improved blissful state of being. You know that state—you are floating on air, the sun is always shining and everything is happiness, butterflies and rainbows. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t be exactly like that. Although it might be worth it to test my theory! (Just kidding, Mom.)
     Anyway…I wrote back to Mr. Booty Call. “I am flattered. But I am not interested in that type of relationship. However, I must compliment you on how eloquently you expressed the bottom line. I’m sure there is a woman out there who will be happy to oblige.”
     “I sincerely apologize if I’ve offended you.”
     “You didn’t offend me. Dating sites aren’t for the faint of heart. I wish you luck finding a match.”
     “Thank you. I wish you all the best on this site and in your other dating endeavors.”

     Unlucky Bachelor #13 was a self-proclaimed virgin at the age of 30. He was a computer specialist. I know, cliché. But it gets even worse, so keep reading.
     “I would be honored if you would be my Padmé Amidala to my Anakin Skywalker.”
     Heavy sigh. “Sorry, but Anakin becomes Darth Vader. And I don’t feel like fighting any wars against the dark side. I wish you the best and may The Force be with you.”
     “You could be Princess Leia. I could be Han Solo.”
     He did not have a picture posted. So, unfortunately, at this point, I’m imagining he’s probably more like Jabba the Hutt. And I have a strong aversion to chains. And I would not be caught dead with a pair of Cinnabons covering my ears. “I’m sorry, no. I wish you luck in finding a match.”
     “I’ll be anyone you want me to be. Just name it. I have an awesome costume collection.”
     Oh yikes. I’m sure you do. I pity this kid. “I am not interested. However, in the future, when contacting other women, I suggest that you be yourself. Save the characters for later.”
     “OK. Thanks.”
     Call me old-fashioned, but I think you should know the guy’s name and perhaps meet him in person before delving into role playing fantasies and discovering whatever else he is hiding in his closet. This poor guy is going to need the full power of The Force behind him to find a woman.

     Oh ladies! I wish I could post Bachelor #14’s picture. He was a very handsome man. In his profile picture, he was impeccably dressed in a classic black tuxedo. That 28 year-old could have had a spread in GQ, or any other magazine his heart desired. He was absolutely, positively gorgeous and quite the catch for someone. An MBA wasn’t enough for him. He’s currently pursuing a law degree.
     “I would love the opportunity to speak with you.”
     Why couldn’t you be ten years older? “Thank you. But I think I’m too old for you.”
     “Please don’t dismiss me yet. I am looking for a mature woman. I’m not interested in needy, clingy girls. I’m looking for a woman who I can have stimulating…”
     Oh geez. Here we go.
     
“Conversations. I’m looking for a woman who I can have stimulating conversations with. Sorry. My finger slipped and it sent before I was finished.”
     Good recovery.
     
“I like intelligent conversations on a variety of subjects. I’m looking for a sophisticated woman who can hold her own and would make a good impression at black tie events, law firm events, symposiums, etc. You seem to have a wide range of interests, you’re educated and you’re very attractive. I need someone like you by my side.”
     Searching for smart arm candy, are you? Now that’s something that would be great on a resumé — Intelligent Arm Candy, well-versed in a variety of topics.
     
“Thank you. But this sounds more like a job than a romantic relationship. I am not the right woman for you.”
     “I’d like to object. I believe you are.”
     Seriously? You objected? “Sorry, you’re overruled. We are at different stages in our lives. Trust me; I know what I’m talking about. This is not open to debate. I wish you well.”
     “Thank you for your time. Best of luck to you.”

     At this point, I’ll take luck or The Force. Whichever works more quickly…

     Stay tuned for the next chapter in my ongoing saga, “Bait and Switch.”

 

Copyright © 2014 by Suzanne Purewal