Mar 04, 2011 22:38
When my house caught on fire, I got out. I didn’t raise doubt about the degree of monstrosity or whether or not I could manage the hot. I didn’t hide under the bed and stay and pray to be left undead.
No, I saved those madman’s actions for my man instead.
I ignored the alarms that roared as his smoke blew up toward my ass. I let him act as though I were second class. In all reality, I should have gone postal and declared myself a priority.
See, he didn’t completely seem into me. He told a good story and was nearly a guarantee until year three. That’s when I saw all the women he would call. And when I called him on it, he’d squeak and squall about his disgust for my mistrust.
And that’s not all. His lust lacked luster. It became a real bummer. I spent a whole summer purchasing lingerie each day and still couldn’t even get a lay. Unless you’re talking about Fritos and Cheetohs. Yeah, I was busy munching on those while he conversed and perversed with online hos.
On top of all that schlogg, he didn’t even like my dog.
Despite the blaze, I stayed. And when my heart burned to the ground, it was too late for first aid. And the flame wasn’t even the source of blame.
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