RIP: Mr. Grey

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There’s a reason Cliff Notes have been so popular. They work. Don’t fuck with what works. Don’t fix what isn’t broken.

Maybe it’s not such a bad thing if the man I’m involved with has a cheat sheet to follow.

I had an epic weekend… smoky, tipsy-fabulous in fishnets and stilettos, sporting the same smile that’s gotten me into trouble since I first discovered it could turn the tide my way. It was a perfect night with a girlfriend of mine and I didn’t fall into bed until 3 in the morning.

I woke up at 6 because I’m a mommy and I’m usually up at 4:30 to run.. I forced myself to go back to sleep in anticipation of my hot date later that night. I fought my way through every 15 minutes until 8.

My coffee was less than exciting.

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My flight was delayed. Every single flight on my airline was delayed. I’d cockblocked myself by not shaving my legs before I left and was DYING that I was approaching this date without the grooming I demand of myself. Whatevs. This is celibate dating. I don’t have to worry about shaving in the way I do when inspired.

But I’m so inspired I’m ready to let La Perla work it’s magic and everyone knows you can’t wear fancy panties with hairy legs.

I called in some epic favors and flew home by 5. I made an unrealistic drive home, in an hour and change. I probably averaged 85 mph, I flew in the front door and ran to the shower, throwing off clothes as I went. Clip, clip, stockings. Swish, panties. Clip, bra. Into heaven with a brand new razor. I may actually be on time.

His messages whistling at me only make me shave faster.

Out and dry, I ripped open the new stockings I bought on vacation. Panties can either be functional or fucktional and I prefer the latter if I’m buying them for recreation. These fit the bill.. There are rose gold rings tying corsets across the ass I’m working hard to perfect, and I am quite happy with the visual.

I’m bait, in heels. It’s our 4th date and my house is empty. It’s take no prisoners at this point and I’m a formidable opponent.

Driving to meet him was surreal, as I DO NOT TAKE DATES ANYWHERE I KNOW ANYONE. I take them to the worst restaurant in town so I’m not sad if I can’t go back.

Until Miss Fancy spoke up.

F- Uh. No. If it sucks, you should at least have a nice meal.

(I’m actually eating that same delicious dinner right now, and she is %100 correct.)

When faced with the choice of who to find first, I went in search of Miss Fancy. He found me, chatting with her and I had to bite my teeth together to keep my jaw from dropping.

He’s wearing tennis shoes. Jeans. Nondescript button down shirt. To my best friend’s restaurant. I look lovely, if I do say so myself, and he looks like he studied for the SAT’s last night. No tie. After enough interest, if he ignores your shameless objectification and the easy opportunity to capitalize on it, throw him out with last week’s news.

But, it all really comes down to one last detail that has me annoyed.

He didn’t shave.

I risked life and limb to deliver silky parts to him and he couldn’t navigate his face.

Our server greets us and asks for our drink order. He announces that he’s having whatever I’m having. I ordered a dirty Bombay Sapphire martini. I don’t think he’s had one before because he’s gingerly sipping it and not enjoying it in the slightest. I’m silently pleased.

She returns for our order and he says he read the menu on the way up and orders the only boring thing on it. Pasta and chicken. Ok. I order steak and he stuns me.

G- I haven’t eaten a bite of steak since I was 8. I don’t want to develop a taste for it and I had a really bloody, gross steak then so it’s easy to think of it as gross.

J- Ok that’s insane. Taste this. I can’t even order anything else on the menu because this is so good.

He wont even taste it. He ordered us steak on our first date and I realize it was just because he knew it was what I like. While I appreciate that, I just don’t think I can love a man who can’t appreciate a good steak. I’ve said for years that I’ll know it’s the right one when he can cook my steak properly. Every single man I have ever loved has overcooked them, and I have a penchant for men who can cook, so that’s saying something.

G- I’ve never had a cheeseburger and won’t try that either. I guess I like being able to say that, so why try one now?

WTF? I happen to know the Cheeseburger Queen and I instantly argue against this stupid idea of his.

J- Oh no, friend. I draw the line at cheeseburgers. That’s just wrong.

G- Nope. Not even a taste.

Ok. I’ve heard enough. I’m tired and it’s been a long day. Time to wrap this insanity up.

He held the door for me and stopped at his car in the parking lot. It’s late, dark and I’m parked on the other side of the lot. I gave him an unimpressed half-smile and he hugged me.

G- Let’s do this again soon!

J- Thank you for dinner.

I walked to my car and waited until his headlights took a right turn on the highway and blew him a kiss as he drove out of my life again.

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I can do a lot of things with a little bit of a man. I am the queen of making the most of a bad situation and I do not expect enough…..

But I draw the line at cheeseburgers and I demand a certain amount of effort if my ass is literally in a corset.

I crave a dirty, hard working man, not a rich guy who brags about working 25 hours a week and can’t find the time to iron, shave or tie himself into what he knows I love.

No thank you.

I went back in and laughed over a glass of wine with my best girl. Bemoaning the terrible quality of available men and my silky single legs only reminds me how stupid this stuff all is. I’d rather have dinner with her than any guy and this dumpster fire situation with Mr. Grey isn’t worth sacrificing all my free time to.

I’m over it. It’s knitting season and I’d rather whip up a few chastity belts than suffer through another dumb date.

Rabid Interest

I forced myself out of bed at 5, dying a little. Feeling the whole weight of eating a cow and drinking a bowl of gin. My eyeballs ache. I have to force myself into the car and to my office. Struggling hard with a headache and a desperate need to nap. Not just tired.

Bothered, and not in a good way. I had to silence my phone to stop the whistling. Mr. Grey doesn’t wait for me to text him back and when I look at my phone there are 11 new messages from him. I feel inundated. I’m especially annoyed because Incredicock’s text tone cracks me up and I’ve missed it three times now because Grey can’t pump his brakes.

There’s a fine line to holding my interest. I’m not afraid to admit that. If I feel like I have to hide from him, I don’t want him anymore. I have a million things going on in a day and I don’t care what he ate for lunch. Not. At. All.

I actually have no desire to talk to him during his lunch break or on his drive home. I’m not a pacifier.

For the love of God. Why do all the wrong men chase me like a deer on the first day of hunting season?

I realize by going silent that I’m making the problem worse. If I want him to chill out, I have to out-text him, call during dinner and send him animated gifs all day. I know the path out, I just don’t care enough to follow it.

G- You must be busy today! Have a good one, gorgeous.

G- Flying Sunday?

G- I can fly over and pick you up so you don’t have to drive so far.

G- We could get lunch in Kalispell, Montana?

G- It was great to catch up with you.

G- Navy pinstriped tie today.

Sigh. I wish I cared, but he’s annoying the shit out of me. I feel like there’s a target on my back that I don’t know about. Yeeesh. I finally snapped.

J- Hey Chatty Kathy, I’m at work. I’ll text you when I get off.

G- Sorry babe, I woke up thinking about you. When do I get to see you again?

Where’s that annoyed emoji when I need it. I put my headphones back on and prayed he’d shut the fuck up. No luck. I finally Googled how to silence him, and a lovely little moon popped up beside his name. Finally, peace.

I raced to get my little Dumpling from school and took her to the park to play. It’s getting colder and darker earlier these days, so we’re trying to squeeze every last bit of playing outside. We walked home in the dusky twilight, holding hands.

This is why I don’t want a boyfriend. She’s my +1. I don’t want her to have to share my time with anyone. That may sound a little dramatic, but it’s really important to me. I only date when she’s asleep so she is none the wiser. She is really excited that my heels have come out of  storage, though.

We walked up to the house and there was a long white box waiting by the front door.

D- PRESENTS!!!!!

It’s from Mr. Grey. I lifted the lid and it’s a big bunch of gorgeous pink roses.

D- Daddy sent me flowers!!!!

J- He’s such a nice daddy. Let’s put them in some water.

D- I want them to be in my room!

I thanked Grey for the roses and let him know it was a huge hit with the little one. I stopped short of telling him they were in her room.

G- Call me after she goes to bed.

J- I have to run. I’ll text you.

… … … ……………………..

I didn’t.

and woke up to 14 messages, including some song lyrics and hearts.

FML.

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