If it were possible, I would want one more date. Just one more. And that would be the end of it. It would be a one-night fling. And after THIS date, there would be no regrets. Her name: S. Yes, I would really like to date this my sweet Dating. Now, I know, this all sounds terrible. It is. I, a happily married man. I, by the grace of God a holy, God-loving, people-loving man.
Wanting to date? And to kill this Date? But maybe not so terrible. And some bloody things as well. So this, very peculiar, my dream. This, very immodest, my modest proposal. And dripping with blood. But since you are with me this far, I know you will enjoy the details.
It would be some Friday night. We would drive off into the night. To a cliff. And having stopped the car, I would then roll my date she being rollable, of course out to the edge of that cliff, raise my old high school left wing foot, and kick poor Dating off. I can just see it now. The cliff where I would take Dating would be a high one. Conveniently located at the bottom would be a sea—a deep one. And Dating would be wearing my new gift—cement shoes. Tight ones. Having been kicked, old Dating would tumble over the edge, and then over and over, sailing as ungraciously as she ever was, now through the air.
Bounce off one rock. Bounce off another. There Dating would go beneath the waves, never to resurface again. You ask: what has gotten into this man, to become this Dating hater? Well, let me tell you like it is. I hate sin. I hate anything that tends to compromise holiness.
I hate anything that tends to fake love, to promote lust, and to trivialize marriage. I hate anything that hurts and scars by the score.
