Okay, okay, okay. I have a crush on yet another man. His name is Ryan. I met him at a writer's group. He is cute. He is kind. He is employed. He is 40. He is out of my league like you wouldn't believe. He is very much coffee and Miles Davis while I'm Snapple Apple and Boosie Badazz.
But as you know, he is not the first Ryan. There was, of course, Sickles, the physically and emotionally unavailable boy slut who gave painful massages and had a baby with a lady when I assumed we were dating. You know what they say about assumptions...
And who can forget Ryan from college? The man I fell for that I literally tried to FORCE to love me. I mean, I offered to cook him food, and, at the advice of my sweet yet misguided friends, even attempted to press my hair and wear heels. As I am sure you have guessed, it didn't work out.
New writer's group Ryan and I vibe pretty well. He thinks I'm funny. I think he has common sense. And with every conversation, I can feel myself sliding ever so beautifully further into the friend zone. God the friend zone. I have been there so many times. Let me tell you a secret: there are no friends there.
For 2019, let's make an agreement not to fall for any more unavailable men, okay? No more men in their late 30s dedicated to their rap careers. No more men who need to borrow $20 dollars to take their main chicks on dates. No more! We will be accountability partners.
Now, I hate to end this post short, but I have to go fantasize about being married to New Ryan now.
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