Saturday, October 31, 2009
The trouble is all in my head, I think, but if I were advising a girl, much like myself, I would say “Hey! You fucking dimwit! Don’t let men control your life! Give up on faith and live for yourself! Abandon the sick feeling in your gut whenever you think about him not thinking about you, and if he is thinking about you, you thinking about him thinking you’re fat.” Oh, I’ve been to all the levels of this emotion and it’s not a funny little thing called love, or romantic note passing, or sweet nothings, or chocolate melting over burning passionate vibrators. Most of those things are embarrassing anyway, and you wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a sweater with his name stitched into it, burning red letters, Brad So and So, with his cool blue eyes and his blond flipped up bangs. Love isn’t like that. It’s awkward and it’s painful and more often than not, you will think that you look fat in that dress, and he will think so too.