Date #2 with Military man from Seattle was great. We dined at a fun Italian restaurant, he went out of his way to open EVERY door for me, and was pretty damn charming. We let down our "We're Super-butch" facades early -- the wall-breaker-downer was probably when he revealed watching Wonder Woman with his grandmother... followed by hours of spinning and pretending... whereas I matched (if not exceeded) with my playtime hours spent inconspicuously tugging my ear and whispering "Showtime, Synergy!" as to summon the powers of my Jem & The Holograms make-believe earrings.

My wittle heart melted when he took our large amount of now-boxed leftover food to the circle (Indianapolis downtown landmarkish place -- as seen from my hotel window below) and gave it to a homeless man.

The weathered and bearded sixty-something was thankful as we headed on our way. While crossing the street we realized he had no fork or napkins, so after retrieving said items from the nearby chocolate shop, we returned just as he was about to squish his fingers into the assortment of -olis and -inis. It made me think about how often I have leftover food that I could be giving to someone -- and quite easily. It's not like there's a shortage of hungry homelessians.

We swung by his hotel room later (think what you may). In his closet he showed me his uniform and these weird little suspenders that clip to the shirt tail, and extend around the foot. I had no idea they had those (or had to wear them). It's kindof the equivelent of the shirt women used to wear called a bodysuit, I believe, that snapped in the crotch to keep it tucked in tightly. This spurred some jokes that ultimately involved jellies as part of the standard-issue military uniform. Hilarity ensued.