Who is she: Resume shows an ex-Wall Street VP who left the profession because she believed it was killing her; she is now a yoga instructor. English; emigrated after law school. Yes, her accent goves me shivers, but so does everything else about her so I suppose my objectivity could be called into question.
Married twelve years or thereabouts. One daughter just started college; one atakpup's age. Divorced long enough that she's over it.
Gorgeous.
My age (almost exactly), so there go the cradle-robber jokes. Sorry.
Very down to earth, the way you would expect of the yoga teacher (not the wall street type). Leads nature walks; plans eventually to donate the land on which I'll be living for a while to a conservation organization. But no granola/birkenstock type — she showed up last night (zomg second date) in cheetah print stilettos and a you-have-to-have-me dress.
[omitted part that I REALLY shouldn't post — but I promise it was good.
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So ... I'm engaged. I'm moving. I'm going to be with someone who I already know calms me, balances me, probably will eventually help me learn not just to suppress my demons, but to convert them into Pegasi. And to feel perfectly fine with the fact that last sentence probably looks ridiculous. I don't care — it's real, and it's right.