Suzanne and her Aunt Helen were really very close. Aunt Helen had the power to persuade her parents to drop any punishment they may have dished out; that was before Aunt Helen unexpectedly jumped from the top of a 22 story building in Minneapolis. She was diagnosed, post-mortem, with depression. The way Suzanne went on about her, I didn’t have to know Aunt Helen to know she was one-of-a-kind. The death of her close relative was doing awful things to her complexion. Suzie looked pale and started growing dark circles under her eyes. She asked me to come to the funeral and although I’m usually opposed to the color black, I am always willing for an excuse to meet new people.

As we waited to pay our respects to the mahogany casket, Suzanne was bawling and I was picking pieces of lint off my fabulous new cashmere sweater. Admiring my reflection in the glass of Aunt Helens photograph set upon a heap of flowers, I felt the heat a powerful stare on the back of my head. Perking up a little bit I was acutely aware of a pair of eyes caressing the small of my back, my butt, my thighs. What a strange sensation for a feeling that was all too ordinary. Knocking into a sobbing cousin or brother, I turn around to see the most beautiful boy I have ever laid eyes upon. Those brilliant blue eyes looked right into mine as if they were peering into my soul. I admired his strong cheekbones, his ruffled blonde hair styled just so. He winks and I give the smile, that says all too clear: “I….Want…You!”

After the boring, sappy eulogies, he approaches me at the wet bar, where the alcoholics of the family are allowed to tie more than a few off without being imposed upon. He drives me home. Before I pull the handle on the car door he runs his fingers through the hair on the back of my head and pulls me close. We kiss. A month later I move in with him, and we ultimately spend the rest of our lives together. Our sex life never gets boring and his stupid jokes never get old. Years pass and I never get tired of hearing jealous girlfriends tell me I have the hottest boyfriend in the world.

I’m a dreamer. I rarely pay attention to anything real while being entertained by the brutally magical scenes constantly being played out in my mind. Love certainly can be found anywhere. A funeral is, no doubt, an inappropriate place to cruise for boys; however, I can’t stomach the idea of interfering with fate. One must always be on the hunt or love is likely to pass on by. Upon entering any room, whether it’s a Burger King or the DMV, I instinctively scan it for potential lovers. I’ve returned to the same coffee shop week after week it hopes Matthew Fabulous, as I christened him, will notice me staring at him through a mess of lattes and laptops. Tonight he will surely offer to buy me another vanilla hazelnut double shot skinny latte, and then ultimately fall in love with me. Give me five minutes in any place and I will have found my future husband. One Matthew Fabulous may be twenty years older than I and bald, but I’m not getting any more desperate. Seeing him smile makes me melt. He will be mine.