The Single Life

The Single LifeIt's quarter to 12 on Friday night, and you've handled your evening with the lissome brunette with the precision of a surgeon. She loved the Australian chardonnay you picked, she let you carry her piggyback across that deceptively shallow puddle and she even cackled at your joke about Brooklyn and pantyhose. What's more, you've finally waltzed her with the grace of Fred Astaire from your couch to your bed. Now, only a flimsy triangle of silk and Lycra keeps you at bay. All it take...