Last night I was talking to the Diva about her new potential beau. True to form, she was already beginning to look for reasons why this one shouldn't work out (she has a tendency to try to jinx herself, which I have pointed out to her numerous times, so she can't be mad that I said it here).

This time, though, her reasoning took a turn: whereas usually she is busy finding flaws in her prospective suitors, this time her loudest protest was about herself. More specifically, I believe she pretty much yelled in the phone "I am [insert Diva's age here]!"

I couldn't help myself, I laughed out loud. Seriously? That's the best reason you have not to be hopeful, not to give this guy a chance to turn out to be as nice and thoughtful as he seems to be? Please, someone get the Diva a sedative...preferably something with vodka.

Better? Good.

Because I know she likes him. And I know she knows she likes him. And, even better, I think he likes her, too. And that's...well...really rare.

So, my advice to the Diva: Shut up and go with it. Take it from a daisy with a few regrets in the love department, none of which have anything to do with the times she threw the rule book out the window.

Because, honestly, isn't it usually the things we wish we'd said or the chances we wish we'd taken that follow us around the longest, find us in our sleep, and wake us up to disappointment?