4 Almost-Happily-Ever-Afters I Met On Tinder (And Where They Went South)
You were 30 minutes late to our first date, which should have been a deal-breaker for me but when I first saw those giant brown eyes of yours, I knew I was doomed.
You were 30 minutes late to our first date, which should have been a deal-breaker for me but when I first saw those giant brown eyes of yours, I knew I was doomed.
It’s a problem of mine, even when I’m balanced out by an SSRI, that I need someone else to make me feel whole. I hate sleeping alone. I hate not having someone to lean on at a bar, an automatic beer pong partner, someone to walk me home late at night.
It’s easy to make a good first impression in these situations. A little bit of cleavage, a self-deprecating anecdote, and just enough references to great literature to prove my braininess.
The book was sized for the back pocket of a lanky boy’s skinny jeans and I read it from cover to cover that night.
You have open wounds on that gorgeous heart of yours and it is wise to let them patch themselves up. But don’t be scared forever. Love is still out there.
Feeling comfortable in my own skin would be a greater test of the strength than losing 10 pounds. But I fully intend to destroy my inner-negativity with aplomb and when I do I’m going to go out on the town wearing whatever I damn well please.
It shouldn’t have made me stop in my tracks like it did. We broke up three years ago and I was the one who instigated it.
Pumpkin spice lattes have no place in this version of fall. Pair these books with a port or full-bodied red wine.
You would break me down and then eagerly pick up the pieces. The floor of our tiny apartment was covered in eggshells. “This is your fault,” you’d insist. “If you’d never cheated then we’d never fight.”
Shirtless, abs. I guess I’d rather see you with a shirt and a smile and maybe also a puppy or two thrown in there somewhere.