At 28 I'd be living on my own in quaint, safe neighbourhood on the outskirts of a big city, in one of those Victorian townhouse-type things. The ones with all those stairs that lead up to the door so that after a date, the guy can walk the girl slowly up to the door as they both contemplate whether and how to go for a goodnight kiss.
By that time I would have figured out how to curl the ends of my hair with a blowdryer, and the only time I'd wear running shoes is at the gym. I would have a dog, something small, like a Maltese or a Shih Tzu... or a miniature Dachshund! And an enormous collection of shoes.
I would be engaged to the sous-chef at an elite downtown brasserie - someone good enough to be known for his mastery, but not already married to his job. The proposal was obviously something classic and cheesy like him cooking me a delicious and romantic meal at home and hiding the ring inside the food. We would regularly take walks in the park (with my dog of course!), and read and do crossword puzzles on a park bench under a big shade tree. He'd play in a men's hockey league once a week. I'd go watch his games of course, with a friend whose boyfriend also played on the team. Then afterwards we'd all go grab coffee and discuss world issues and places we'd like to travel.
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