I'm at Mark's house, and I already can't remember what I said to the Uber driver, let alone if I tipped him or not. My fingers scrambling around my purse for keys, I notice that the TV is on in the living room. I really hope it's Mark and not his unibrowed roommate.

I open the door to see Mark parked on the sofa, with a freshly showered head. "So, how was tonight?" As I come over to the couch and face him, he smiles wide enough to fit an RV camp across his mouth. There's something so comforting about a freshly cleaned, nice man.

"I don't know," I sigh, sliding next to him on his L-shaped "Brofa" (I thought up the bro-sofa over breakfast).

"That doesn't sound very good. What happened? Did you pee the bed?" He smiles, staring at the screen.

"Yeah, I peed the bed. Turns out he's not into water sports." Grabbing the remote, I start flipping channels.

"Hey, I was watching that."

"The infomercial?" I return back to his regular programming, not looking at his face, trying to stave off a burp.

"Yeah. I'm this close to buying a Shamwow."

I look over at him. He's making the narrow hand signal, where his thumb and forefinger look like they're trying to crush me from a great distance. I don't know if it's my desire to end the night on an upswing, the tossled sheen in his hair, or the whiskey bubbles still kicking down my brain cells, but I lean over and kiss him.