I may be the only woman in the world who feels smothered when someone asks to see her again a week after a first date.
“Didn’t I just see you? No. Because I don’t want to. No, there’s nothing wrong with you, you’re nice. Nope, no other plans. I just want to stay home alone and stare at the wall. Also, I’m menstruating so we’re not going to be having sex — do we know how to do anything else?”
Or, hey, apparently my moods swing and slam themselves into things more often than George of the Jungle, so feel free to ask again tomorrow. Every day in my psyche is partly sunny with a 50% chance of either needy or misanthropic. You just gotta roll the dice.
Ugh, why do I feel fat when it’s phrased like that? Pretty sure half the reason my abs still hurt two days later is that his affinity for putting his hand on my lady-pudge made me compulsively suck it in all day.
(I know, I know. My body is a fucking wonderland, I get it. I just have my moments. Don’t worry, there are also plenty of other times where I feel like a wanton sex goddess.)
New Guy, who is NOT a Boyfriend: “Where do you want to eat?”
Me: “Oh, there’s this place that was on that show you love that you and I watched together. We could go there!”
Maybe that’s not so much “girlfriend” as it is “people pleaser.” I suppose I do this with everyone I care about. But when you add “caring and thoughtful” to “willing to go down on you for an hour,” the lines begin to blur…right along with his vision.
“Women are all about the mood. lf she’s in the mood to fuck you, shut up, let it happen. ‘Cause if you say the wrong thing, them panties are coming up mighty fast. She be on the phone with a girlfriend: ‘Yeah, l was gonna give him some, but he just started talkin‘. Yakkity yak yak yak — I hate a yakkin’ man, child!'”