I was tempted to rattle off a list of maladies to the chick at the counter to ensure I chose wisely – I have super dry elbows, my dog doesn’t listen to me, and I really like rom coms…which of these $17 bottles of liquid vegetables will make me a princess?
I just want to be 79 years old so I can watch Boy Meets World re-runs in peace and not feel guilty for wasting my perky breasts and small wrists on a gallon of ice cream and Ben Savage in all his 11-year-old prime. I AM A SQUARE.
There are days I swear I’ll never speak to you again…caffeine-ridden days that I wander and write and create and feel okay without telling you my every thought for the sole reason that my voice sounds better when echoing off of you.
But being in a pseudo relationship with this man had me questioning everything: I have to shave my legs FOUR times a week now? Am I drunk enough for this? And Is he sober enough for…anything? ever?
I bought a giant soy candle that makes my Brooklyn apartment smell like an expensive lumberjack in a Ralph Lauren commercial.
You see why anyone would be lucky to love her. And then you see his face next to hers and he pales in comparison. She’s lovely…and come to think of it, you’re quite lovely too. And you realize that he’s the one who’s undeserving of it all.
Rule number one in relationship building is to make sure your love interest doesn’t know your real personality until you’ve moved in together, you’re on your honeymoon, and he’s paid for your master’s degree. Take a moment here in these early stages and pretend you’re so cool, you’re practically Jennifer Lawrence.
When he does and suggests you dial back the “Relationship” to a “relationship” with a lower case “r”, you’ll turn into Your Own Worst Nightmare. I flipped my hair around so much I think I pulled a muscle in my arm.
All it took were those swirling 3 days together, and we were convinced of our lifetime. This was it. This was the all-encompassing, all-consuming, all-being, almighty force.
Never assume you were the only woman lucky enough to deserve a cheekbone bruise. Bitches are lining up to be failed by those biceps.