I had just finished watching back-to-back 30 Minute Meals. I've long ago decided that those recipes do only take 30 minutes...if your name is Rachael Ray. "What are you hungry for?" he asks me as the 2nd episode concludes and I shrug. He moves to the kitchen, wanting to get dinner underway. He pulls the cupboard doors open, all of them, before commencing the meal.

I steal a glance at him through the available sliver of my view, and he's standing at the stove stirring something, shifting his legs fluidly. He moves well. He's mumbling some sweet nothing to the heated pan, then cocking his neck with telling attitude...and as the sizzling pierces the space, I can pull his statement from the air.

"Who needs Rachael Ray when you've got Betty Crocker."

You tell 'em, Nick.

Nick walked in from the garage last night holding two bottles of Leinenkugel's Honey Weiss and all but shoved one in my hand as he sat next to me on the couch. He opened his quickly and took a drink...I dawdled over opening mine, setting it aside instead. I didn't really want it.

But he had difficult news to share and with his drink a good deal consumed, I found myself opening mine and looking for relief from the literal and figurative pains in my rear. Nick rubbed my back in comfort as we drank. I set my bottle down at length and he, his.

We leaned in, kissing, and maybe 30 to 45 seconds in, I started to feel the beer-laced air in my throat. Terribly unladylike, I know. With seconds to spare, Nick quit the affectionate embrace to turn his head away. I did the same and we both burped before returning to each other's lips...seamlessly, without thought. We stopped then, looking at each other close-range, and all at once the indelicacy of the matter hit home. We laughed at the tasteless humor of the situation and kissed anyway. Ah! So glad those boring first impressions are over with! Now we can REALLY live!