He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not. He Loves Me.

July 13, 2013 – This is one of our first “us” photos.

Every relationship has its ups and downs; ours is no different.

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I’ve always been this good-looking. I’m sure we can agree, it’s my man that’s got it going on though.

I’m just being myself in this photo – a goofy asshat. He, on the other hand, is all business and half-dressed. I like him with even less on, but I don’t write that kind of blog.

When the two of us began dating he was separating from his wife. I was newly sober. It was absolutely positively, completely and utterly, the wrong goddamn time!

Friends and family warned us against our pairing. Blah blah blah. Rebound chick. Blah blah blah. 1st year of sobriety. Yada yada yada. We enjoyed one another’s company and were great in bed together. Phenomenal together. That’s all we needed to know at the time.

Things took off quickly for us. We spent nearly all of our time together – not a healthy launching pad.

I turned his bed into a torture chamber just for him every night. Not because of sexual deviancy but because I’m a human furnace and like to “cuddle” which, to him, essentially means “suffocation.” It was the healthiest relationship I’d ever been in. Still is.

My insecurities would soon creep in. I’d wonder what it was that attracted him to me. I wasn’t as intelligent as his ex-wife. She had bigger tits and a cute little gap between her front teeth. Red-haired and fair-skinned with freckles and thin thighs, she was a fucking Maybelline model. Or whichever cosmetic brand promotes that ‘wholesome with a touch of batshit crazy look.’ I was just a brunette with a foul mouth, a shit-ton of baggage, and some quirky behavior.

Turns out the quirky behavior is what he loved. The sailor mouth didn’t turn him away either.

Do you know what happens when you introduce your very white, not fully invested boyfriend, to your very Hispanic family for Thanksgiving dinner? He bailed.

When we returned home from our trip, he decided maybe we ought to take a step back. I had been so happy introducing him to my mother and her side of the family. This piece of shit had to go and ruin everything!

Again, I’m fucking adorable.

I can see how spending an evening with folks who speak freely about murdering people on the street in Mexico could be overwhelming and even frightening, but you’re supposed to love me goddammit! Blowjobs aren’t free! Suck it up for a day.

What happened to all that charm you talked about me having? Did that dissipate the moment my Aunt spoke about having her psychotic break or was it after my mom’s husband spoke about serving in Vietnam and the atrocities laid out there? Where exactly did I lose you? I’ll circle back after the strawberry pretzel dessert thingy.

That wouldn’t be the case, though.

We’d stay split up for a whopping two weeks! I was indignant. How dare this motherfucker break up with me! I’ve never been broken up with. Did this dude even understand what he was missing out on? Could he see his mistakes? Oh, I’d show him. He’d come to understand.

That would not be the case, though.

I called him, crying like a little bitch. “But I don’t understand. I thought you had feelings for me.” Blah blah blah. “If you truly cared, how are you able to discard me so easily?” Boo hoo. “If I meant anything to you…” I’m just going to stop there.

Every single woman has played this routine. Don’t lie, bitches. And every single man has either done the same, heard the same, or felt clotheslined by this bullshit before. Women just feel sorry for you guys when you do it to us. We feel superior, and we feel sorry for you. Saying these words to him, I felt pathetic. I loved him, I couldn’t help it. Did I mention the phenomenal sex?

We got back together because he screwed up and I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. (I’m running with that, I’ll hear nothing to the contrary)

Why does he love me? If you were to ask him, he’d offer some bullshit about my being a good person who cares deeply for him. He may say that I’m funny or even “cute.” For a fact, I know that he likes that I have little to no inhibitions about making a damn fool of myself in public. I “booty dance” spontaneously at the grocery store and compulsively sing.

There will never be a time that I see a dog without saying, “Awww, doggie” as if I’ve affectionately identified the creature for the first time ever. He’s accustomed to hearing me toss the word “cock” into play often. I use it both as an insult and in sexual contexts. I’m crude, but in a sweet way.

All of that though, is horseshit.

He loves me because I help him create his happiness. I want him to do whatever it is in life that will make him the happiest, even if we must live more simply in doing so. I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to help facilitate that.

I love him for the very same reasons.

And the ridiculous sex doesn’t hurt either.

He loves me…end of story.


3 thoughts on “He Loves Me. He Loves Me Not. He Loves Me.

    1. When selecting a partner, I needed to keep in mind that I’m not very delicate. I needed someone loyal and “sturdy.”
      This was my favorite movie at the time. Thus, Kevin became my “Lobster”

      Liked by 1 person

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