I'll get this out of the way now. Greg is not real. He is the embodiment of that guy all women hope to meet some day. My ideal is a Brendan Fraser-esque guy, handsome, funny, goofy and charming. I tried several names for this dream man--Joseph, Paul, Darcy etc., but for some reason Greg stuck. He leaves all the cabinets open and the lights on, and I can't get him to throw away his UCLA sweatshirt for anything. But every Wednesday at 4:17 he sends me a text because it was a Wednesday at 4:17 that he realized he loved me. We have what I call a companionable spark--friends with butterflies.
Now before you get the impression that this is a lovey-dovey blog, Waiting for Greg is about the life I'm living in the meantime. And I don't care if The Princess Bride warped my perception of romantic love -- I don't see the point in settling for anyone less than my Wesley. Er, Greg. And don't worry--you won't catch me Ally McBealing up the place. Being a Miss is its own adventure...
