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.




Tall Order


I ran into him yesterday and was struck silent. My nerves were on edge and I could hardly breathe. He smiled at me and my resolve liquified. He leaned in and the words fell right out of my mouth.

J- My God you smell good.

This is why I need a filter. He looks confused and I’m trying to delicately back-pedal. There’s just no getting around it. I love an artificially fragranced man. No natural essential oils, either… No. I love me some after shave, die for even the most basic dollar store cologne, and heaven help us all if he’s ironed. I have vices, I admit them.

Sometimes it’s better to just admit to them and move on. I do my best to squash these natural inclinations, to no avail. You want what you want and there’s no getting around it.

My mama is a firm believer in list making, and this is no exception.

  1. I want a man who makes me laugh when I want to slit his throat. I realize this is a specialized skill, but if you can make me laugh when I’m furious, nothing bad will ever happen. I’m a happy person by nature and would much rather fuck than fight… so this is a skill that will make your life pretty damn spectacular as well.
  2. I want a man who can fix things with tools. One of the hottest things I’ve seen recently, is a man searching for a tiny replacement screw in the gazillions of drawers at the hardware store. He found it… and I could hardly speak. Men with man skills are my jam.
  3. I need him freshly shorn. I’m capable of handling a beard these days, but it needs to be more manicured hedge than broom. A million bonus points for silky soft man face.
  4. I need him artificially scented. No patchouli, no lavender and NO Old Spice. I’m not attracted to naturally scented anything, hippies OR men who smell like my dad. Beyond those guidelines, anything goes. I don’t have a favorite cologne, but any is better than none. Hell… soap has been known to blow my mind lately… so this is an inexpensive vice to exploit.
  5. I need him to love his mama. This is one of those old fashioned vices that I can’t seem to quit. I loathed my mother in law and my ex did too. It only took away from our life, and I wish I’d been older and wiser so that I could have tried harder to build a healthy relationship with her. The older you get, the more you realize how priceless those people really are in your life. If I’m going to commit to a man, I’m going to have to want to hang out with his mom.
  6. Faith isn’t important to me, but I have found that the Christian boys are just as dirty and dishonest as the heathen atheists. I don’t care what someone’s faith base is, as long as they don’t force it on me or mine. Jesus is like your penis. Keep it to yourself until I ask for it.
  7. I need for him to know his way around the kitchen. Men who cook are my achilles and I am powerless when it comes to a perfect medium rare steak. If he can tie on an apron and blow my mind on a dinner plate, I’m going to thank him in ways he’s only dared to fantasize about. You cook for me: I burn for you. It’s a win-win situation.
  8. Can he dance? He needs to. I don’t care if he looks like an elephant in roller skates, I just can’t be the only one bumping and grinding while I get the dinner dishes done. Miserable chores are made better by a little ass shakin’ and I want the guy who can’t help but dance with me if I’m gettin down.
  9. I’ve been celibate for 5 years. I need to not be anymore. Along those lines, I want He-Who-Can-Keep-Up. Don’t whine about needing sleep or having to work the next day… life is short and I’m insatiable. You’re welcome. If he can’t or won’t, I don’t want him.
  10. Last but not least… I need him to be a very good man. The one nobody can believe is single. That guy who opens doors, puts the toilet seat down and says please and thank you. Manners, integrity and a quiet masculine strength that doesn’t need to be loud or aggressive to be perfectly obvious.

I’m pretty sure you’ve realized the same thing I have after reading this.

I have a better chance of finding a unicorn growing out of the soil in my garden, and we’re still buried under 4′ of snow.

A new kitten or a fresh tattoo sounds a million times better and FAR more likely to be a perfect match, so if anyone has any suggestions for either, let me know!