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The dating world is an unpleasant dome, where rules are broken, made and reinvented. An assortment of characters linger waiting for an opportunity to entice you with false claims and expectations. I loathe the whole scene and spent part of an entire year as a single, non-dating woman.

Finally, after those barren months I realised that everyone had interesting relationship tales to tell and I had over exhausted my "ex was a cheating bastard" excuse. My narcissistic nature proved stronger then my sanity and I soon acquired a regular date partner.

In the three months that we have been seeing each other, my relationship with this man has been conducted through cold calculation and manipulated interactions. He is not my "boyfriend", but he is "the man I am seeing". There is a difference. (This sentence will gradually turn into one word and before you know it, you're in a relationship.) Terminology and classification are highly important at this phase.

Sunday afternoon while taking my afternoon, I heard a light tap on my apartment door.

I opened the door slightly and "the man that I am seeing" entered my apartment and frowned at my un-bathed form.

"Oh, its you," I said snidely, before walking off to my bedroom.

He followed me and asked coldly: "What does that mean?" he asked.

I slid into bed and stared at him. He had violated the 24-hour notice rule, which stipulated that one should notify via email or telephone within 24 hours any intended date or visit.

"Hey, is there a laundromat around here?" he asked.

I was irritable and gave the obvious answer: "What happened to the one down your street?"

Of course there are plenty of laundromats in his area, but this man had driven across his city to my town to inquire about the location of one in my area.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I am lying in bed," I responded.

Please be aware that this man is an otherwise smart, entertaining person. A rare find as he stands, without his Timberlands at an impressive 6’2. I am delighted as I am only 5’2.

There is an awkward silence.

"Do you want me to go to the laundry with you?" I asked very slowly.

He nodded, and then shook his head: "But you are in bed?"

I continued to lie in bed and still he made no effort to leave. Silence.

In three months, we have had sporadic dates, movies, dinner and one party, but no laundry time. Believe you me, watching a spin cycle is a miserably unifying experience.

I lay there quietly contemplating, calculating this phase. We had just declared that we cared and had feelings for each other the previous week. That is not the same as saying "I love you", but we were adhering to the standards that we had established.

I leaped from my bed and headed for the shower. He waited patiently as I dressed in my standard jeans and sweater ensemble.

Two hours later we sat watching his assortment of whites, colored ensembles spinning in a dingy, dirty Laundromat.

That evening while lying on my couch he declared that doing the laundry with me wasn’t half bad.

I smiled stupidly.

"What type of flowers do you want for Valentines’ Day?" he asked softly.

I think I am in love.