On Finding My True Love (Not Horse Related)

I have an ideal that has been stuck in my head for quite some time. My ideal is this: Six feet tall, blonde or red-head, owns a collection of guns, has a giant four wheel drive, has excellent teeth, is open to religion, puts up with my love of horses, and is willing to follow me to the ends of the Earth and back because I'm just that wonderful. He has to have coherent thoughts in his head, be able to read a book now and then, and have the capacity to understand when I'm talking about when I use words longer than four letters.

Also, he would preferably wander into my living room one day and fall in love with me in all my jammie-wearing, chain smoking glory to save me the effort of seeking him out.

Somehow, most of the people I know tend to think that this scenario is highly unlikely.

Phooey on you naysayers, I say.

Realistically, I'm fairly aware that this is fairly unlikely to happen.

This means one of two things: Me and my jammies need to get pretty comfy on this couch because we are likely to stay here for quite some time OR I need to don some makeup, a fitted T-shirt, and a hairstyle now and then and get myself out there.

Who am I kidding?

I love my couch.