Handwritten Letters to the Devil. Zin

      We have been together for eight months, twelve days, seven hours, and fifty-two minutes . . . but who’s counting!? We have a Special Date tonight and I’m beside myself I’m so excited. He is taking me out to a lovely steak and lobster dinner at Nikkita’s. Red wine, dim lighting, candle on the table to set the mood, jazz playing in the background as we stare into each other eyes. Of course I’ll have on my skinny black dress and heels to match, my hair curled in an updo with smokey eyes and ruby red lips to complete the ensemble. I know he will be dressed to the nine’s as well, slick pants, shiny belt and shoes, button down shirt and a suit jacket, smelling like only he can with a grin to die for. Supposedly after dinner there is a surprise for me having to do with stars and city lights in a romantic old fashioned way . . . of course he doesn’t know what a surprise I have in store for him tonight.