He hadn’t been the eleventh man at the party, but he was the one who got the girl, the best of the bunch, to his mind, sweet and unpretentious, unlike the others.
He’d caught a cutie with a cootie catcher. He chuckled, pleased with his pun.
Maybe being a nice guy wasn’t necessarily the kiss of death, he thought. Maybe you just had to be patient and wait for a nice girl to come along, one who’d appreciate honesty and really understand what love is.
George filled his bowl with organic twigs and berries, and sat down to enjoy breakfast.