When you do most of your work in cyberspace, who cares what color your t-shirt is?My self-image is a cross between the dark intensity of Sam Spade and...the suave sophistication of Nick Charles. Really? I’m a tall, skinny, rumpled Columbo in faded jeans and a t-shirt. I showered quickly, brushed my teeth, pulled on said jeans and t-shirt, and headed out the door to meet the mother and daughter—all the while feeling like the golden sun logo on my shirt was turning into a massive target on my. I’m sure I’d find someone else. Eventually. For now, I felt like shit. I let her do it to me again. It was the end of fifth grade all over again, only ten times worse.Why would I let her break my heart twice? Why was I so stupid?I beat myself up for several hours, even taking short naps in the solitary fortress of my bedroom. The parents left me well alone, but insisted I come out to eat supper. I didn’t argue. I cleaned myself up as best I could and wandered out into the light and sat sullenly. More

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