There is something so beautiful about a man who knows just the right time to get you fabulously drunk... Not sick drunk, not stupid-embarrassing drunk, but just drunk enough for a hangover and a greasy spoon.

He called me after work to tell me he was going home to take a shower. When he got here I complained of writer's block and stagnant words and he ordered me to get dressed. He proceeded to smack my ass and make out with me in the elevator leaving the newly buffed doors with hand prints all over.

He told me to order whatever I wanted at the bar and I did. His eyes wandered all over my body and when we got home an hour later his hands followed the trail his eyes had left. He let me drink until I passed out on the couch, then he carried me to bed, and I'm not quite carrying size.

He woke me this morning with warm arms and sweet kisses. We made love, and yes I do mean made love, in my bed while it drizzled rain outside the window. I was still drunk through breakfast and he told me how cute he thought I was. When he dropped me off he asked if I wanted help inside.

I plan to take a nap soon, as I still feel a bit under the influence. However, I say with confidence that I may have snatched up the last good man in the world.