I end up wishing, hoping, for that mysterious guy on a horse to pitch up, throw me up behind him and ride off with me into the sunset. Possibly having trained the buns and hound to run along behind us (I can see it now: "wanted: one prince charming. Must have gsoh, be housetrained, literate, well-read and love animals"). Heh. Maybe I've spent too long watching the bunny honeymoon - although, to be fair, I don't long for someone to jump on my head and dry-hump it, which is what Pete keeps doing to Doris. No, I want snuggles.
I'm scared of what will happen. Nervous of what he'll think, whether I'll say something stupid, have an outbreak of spots. Getting my heart broken, battered or just plain bruised. Actually, scratch that. The risk is half the fun, no?