When he suggested this could work, I balked. I doubted he was feeling ok and wondered if he was kidding. He wasn’t. He was in my sheets in minutes, before I had time to be awkward. I realized something abruptly, in those intense moments with him.

I hadn’t considered the ramifications, fully. I didn’t have time to catch my breath and I will forever wish I had a do-over with a functioning brain. No right-minded woman expects the dick of her dreams to come driving up the driveway. Not even the most delusional girls think that could happen in the grand scheme of things.

I never considered wanting him more than I craved a cigarette a few days into kicking the habit. It’s been months since he touched me and I still can’t sleep at night. I want him like I want to plant too many tomatoes this summer, and love him like I love clean sheets. He looks at me sometimes and I’m overwhelmed by the words that are threatening to fall out of my mouth. I try not to look at him when we’re together because my eyes give me away.

I need this man like I need coffee, crave him like a tropical vacation and couldn’t quit him if I tried.

My Tinder is flooded with 27-40 year old men making desperate attempts at witty conversation. I could not be more bored.

So I’m coping. I’m bleaching things, painting old crap and trying to wash off this bone-deep frustration threatening to drown me. Trying to shake this off in healthy ways instead of dating one of the 20 men who bear a vague resemblance to the man I wish they were. Making an innocent bystander into a glorified stunt double isn’t nice, so I’m suffering quietly instead.

I’m cooking again, which has been a huge help in keeping my hands and head, busy. I ran to the store for cherry tomatoes and a little of everything else, last night. My diet isn’t going as well as it has been but I’m cutting myself a little slack in every arena these days. Which is how potato chips ended up in the cart, along with the wasabi dusted almonds I love, and Twinkies, because…. heartache.

Standing in line, my hands about to fall off from the 60+ pounds of forbidden treats I’ve managed to cram into the tiny basket I thought would stop me from overbuying, my favorite text tone comes screaming from my pocket. Oh God, no.


I’m laughing nervously and trying to crush my phone in my pocket to make it stop. No dice.


I dropped the basket on my toes and ripped my phone out of my pocket. Absolutely pomegranate red and not making eye contact with the amused crowd I’m waiting with in line. I shot him a quick text in hopes he’d be quiet.

J- Shhhhhhhhh, lol… your text tone sure entertains everyone in the checkout line.

I- Nah, I like making things awkward.

I realize immediately that I never should have told him. He’s going full tilt now and my phone is shouting YUMMY faster than I can silence it. The man behind me starts to belly laugh and his wife smacks him.

Man- What? How come your phone doesn’t say YUMMY when I text you?

Wife- Cause you’re not.

Eeek. Now I’m causing marital strife.


J- You’re killing me, lol

I- Change the tone then.

J- Never.

I- Well then I don’t know what to tell you.

At this point, I’ve given up and everyone is laughing and grinning at me. The cashier grins and winks at my basket of treats.

C- Find everything you were looking for tonight?

J- I did, thank you.


I’m purple. I’ve entered a whole new level of public mortification and my phone has gone off the rails.


J- I’m sorry, y’all… he just is.

Everybody is laughing, I’m red as a radish and my phone is STILL screaming YUMMY! as I hopped into the silent sanctuary of my car.

Time to find a new grocery store.




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