Goldilocks

I’ve had but three serious relationships in my troubled romantic career.
     My first girlfriend was smart as a whip but cold in bed, hopelessly insecure, and shy.
     The second was vivacious—at least that’s what she’d claimed in her ad—outgoing and overly confident, but with a laugh that could turn heads in a noisy room.
     The third I’ll call Goldilocks, because she was just right, somehow combining the best of her predecessors while patching over the worst . . . the porridge, the chair, and the bed—everything in balance, and a welcome respite from the extremes I had come to expect.