Julia Scheeres wanted a provider, but she fell in love with a man who earned way less than she hoped and drove a beat-up pickup. The sex was great, but how much was true love worth? By Julia Scheeres.
AT THE BERKELEY CAFÉ WHERE WE MET, Tim leaned on the table, his T-shirt riding up over his curved biceps. I've always gone for swarthy types, and with his dark Irish eyes and widow's peak, he was even sexier in person than in his online-dating profile photo. Unlike other first dates who yammered on about themselves ad nauseam, Tim asked a lot of questions. I took a sip of my cappuccino and fantasized about him lounging in my breakfast nook, clad only in boxers. "Enough about me," I said. "What's your line of work?"
"I'm a graduate student in American history," he said. "I hope to teach someday." I put my cup down. Had he mentioned this in his profile, I would have deleted his message instantly.
I know that might sound shallow, but let me explain. My dad was a surgeon; myRead More »from For Love or Money?