Wanna bet?

Josh and I agreed on a bet today. If I’m not married
by the time I’m 60, he owes me dinner. If his hypothesis that it is “improbable,
but not impossible” for me to marry is proven right, I and my theoretical
husband owe him dinner. I am hoping I win, and that this dinner is in a
restaurant steeped in history and noble extravagance, with 18th-century flatware
and snotty third-generation sommeliers and linens handstitched by blind French
nuns, and that it also includes plane fare to the city that holds said

He is of the firm belief that
no one is more confirmed a bachelor than he.

We’ll see about that.