By Robin S. Brooks
That was the last of the blind dates, I promised myself. It was because before that, this one said, “It’s been defined for us in First Corinthians…” as if that was going to hook this Lutheran schoolteacher, who is far more liberal than he ever could have guessed. Before that, thinking he was really getting somewhere, he leaned over the candlelit restaurant table with the smarmiest look on his face, and asked, “So, what is your definition of love?” which was preceded by, “What makes you happy?” and “What do you look for in a partner?” The phone call asking me on a blind date seemed brave enough, except that one of the staunch, upstanding leaders of our small town had proclaimed one day, “We need to find you a farmer here with lots of land so you’ll stay!”
I left.
