Don’t get me wrong, I’m not your typical gullible single man, habitually interested in watching junk tv alone on a Friday night. It’s unlikely you have never read me post about great dating and companionship. There’s a reason for that.

Datelessness is an unfortunate popular feeling and entirely missing from my playbook. However, Winter of 09 was an exception, I had to end a solid fling and I felt a great deal for but simply deadended for both of us. So you could go on record saying it may have been a good since I dated someone new. I don’t hold the great expectations I held years ago.

Single life has had its perks so far. One thing is for sure, I don’t know how to lounge about, peacefully binging on Two and a Half Men on DVD. The number one cause of this spell of incidental dating apathy? We’re not in high school, and everyone else is boring.

My former college pal, Josh, who has never had dating loneliness, informed me he’s currently in the same boat. He joinedGreat Expectations Dallas. I take to introductions with delightful gals who share my passions. So I bit the bullet and joined.

I told myself, there ain’t room to grovel by going dateless if you haven’t picked up the phone. Like my mentor and baseball coach Paul Kniffen often said as his idea of encouragement, “If you don’t run you can’t score, sparky.”

Coach was crazy, and a little out of touch. Regardles, he was a source of truth in a good old fashioned way. He always made us laugh. This fun series of singles events in Dallas here could have overloaded the old man’s shiny bald head.

Through great expectations I breezily chatted with dozens substantive and desirable singles that meet my expectations. I actually had a carefree night with a few terrific noteworthy men and women. The evening ended following a promising exchange of numbers, and even grew some social networking acquaintances for my company. Score.

Put yourself in the play. You won’t complain if you sit the bench. Take it from me, you might as well have great expectations for great dating.

Frankly,

Keith