I love Rob.

A steady email conversation has been transpiring over the past few days between my former neighbor Rob and me. Despite the fact that he mostly just says things like, "Jesus! I don't want to take your virginity. I just want to play with the box it came in for a while," he has a pretty serious side. He's surprisingly intelligent and there's just something about him that makes him my one-stop shop for man advice. The fact that he's divorced and wrecks ass with anything that has a pulse must qualify him to tell me how to find and sustain a meaningful relationship, right?

So, today I'm feeling a little down on men in general and Rob and I are shooting the in-depth, meaningful emails back and forth. He gives it to me brutally honestly, like he always does, assuring me that men are all natural cheating, lying assholes who go to bars strictly to ogle sweet, young ass. Later, he forces me to ponder the deeper questions, asking me where I think my future husband is right now and what he's doing. More importantly, how can I find him and make him part of my life? Have I been looking in the right places? He assures me that I deserve the best and beseeches me to not settle with someone who is wrong for me.

As the workday draws to a close, I shoot him a quick email to wish him a good weekend, as I continue to ponder the intelligent points he's made and the probing questions he's asked. Before long, I receive the following email from him:

"I'm meeting a young lovely tonight. If anyone asks, I was first baseman for the Twins in the eighties and early nineties. I'm going to bag her like last week's groceries!"