There is no greater freedom than the kind you return to at the end of a mercifully short first (and last) date that in no way, shape, or form matched your pre-conceived notions of what she’d be like.
What’s the recipe for letting these pre-conceived notions bamboozle you yet again? Mix one part of her phone voice and reasonably flattering isolated moment in time her pic captured, with the subconscious essences of women you were drawn to in the past you’re thinking this total stranger looks and sounds like, simmer for a day or two and voila – your goose is cooked!
Why do I keep running for the football, expecting “Lucy” not to grab it away this time? I’m done with cooked goose. From now on, I’m Mr. Chicken.