January 22, 2013
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I will keep it in my pants. That’s my mantra today.
He finally made plans with me after two weeks. Maybe he is just using me, but he still talks to me. And listens to my stories of nothing and my obsessing over television shows. That still doesn’t mean anything. I’m not stupid. Men will put up with a lot if they think they’ll be able to stick their penis inside of you later. So I will keep it in my pants tonight. I hope.
Honestly though, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. Well, that’s not true. If the other boy asked me to go to the courthouse tomorrow and marry him, I’d show up at sunrise, wedding attired and ready to spend the rest of my life in this small town. That’s how pathetic my crush has gotten. When I walked by him yesterday, he turned to me and said hello. I smiled and said hi, but then immediately bolted for the treadmills. I’m sure I was about five shades darker than an apple and I needed to get away or I feared I’d attack him with my misplaced crazy. “Hi, I’m Liz. I love you and in my head we’ve been married for about five years. We have three kids, but we’re trying for one more. Our dog is named Boo and we live in the suburbs. There is a swing in the front yard and a wrap around porch that looks great with Christmas lights on it…” Yeah. That was what my mere “Hi” implied. I wonder if he realizes that.
I can’t even begin to convey how much I hope that no one knows about my hook ups with other guy. It’s not that I’m particularly ashamed of my behavior, but I don’t think that my inability to wait until at least the fifth date to take my clothes off is something that earns respect and admiration from the opposite sex. And I’d like to have that. So, I will keep it in my pants. I will keep it in my pants. I will keep it in my pants. And when I end up naked again in his bed later, I will seriously have to find a better way to control myself than a mantra that I recite in my head.
And by the way, it is so cold that I can’t breathe.
