I was 24 years old when my first divorce became final, and it was only about nine months until I married for the second time. I don't know whether that fact speaks to the depths of my loneliness then or just to plain old youthful impulsiveness. At any rate, I knew the man who'd become my second husband only about three and a half months before we married.
Naturally, in the months before I met him, I dated a few other guys. Maybe half a dozen, tops. Those were not significant relationships, but some of those guys met my children, and I eventually learned just how thoroughly my girls were checking them out.
When the man I'd later marry came to meet my daughters for the first time, it didn't surprise me that my younger daughter, who was three at the time, climbed onto his lap the minute he sat down. She was (still is) a people person, and she absolutely adored male attention back then.
My new suitor seemed pleasantly surprised that my little one took to him so readily. They chatted for a minute, then she reached out and rubbed her small hand on his forearm in tiny circular motions. Drawing her hand back gently, she looked up at him, smiled her sweetest smile, and announced, "You're the hairiest boyfriend we ever had."