"Dear Bobby, I love you. I always look forward to when my husband leaves for work, and you sneak into bed with me. Sometimes, you will wake me up, but usually, you just lie there next to me waiting for my eyes to open." Bobby. You are a cat. But you are the cat of all cats. Unliked some others whose names I will not mention.... you like being a cat. You are my original Obi Kenobi... But you don't like your name and insist I call you "Bobby" or "Bob". You are my predator. You can catch anything- including a rabbit almost twice your size. I remember the time you brought a baby possum into our home. I had just awakened and sleepily headed to use the bathroom when, peering from inside the toilet, was a little possum begging to be released. You cheeky bastard, Bobby. That poor possum. I scolded you and you just turned the other whisker, as if to say "look lady... I am a cat, that's how I do...." The other cats beg for forgiveness when ...
I once dated a really good dancer. That wasn't his only strength. In truth, he was one of thee absolute best dudes I ever made out with. He was super funny, smart and we clicked right away. But what struck me as odd was that, for the first time before and since, his good dancing skills didn't turn me off. (For some reason, a man with too much swagger on the floor has always confused and frightened me a little.) Oh, and I also don't like when they are so involved in their dancing that they forget you are on the floor with them. Oh, and when they A. crowd you or B. use you as a prop. Oh, and when they sing along to songs by female artists. If you know all the lyrics to "I'm a Slave for You", that's both impressive and embarrassing. (I really did have strange deal-breakers with men...) So here was the first guy who I enjoyed dancing with that was actually a really good dancer. He didn't crowd. He didn't sweat profusely. H...
My husband used to do something that took me a while to wrap my head around. I didn't know how to appraoch the situation for some time, and finally we sat down and had the discussion about his piling- and ever since things have been significantly better. Tonight I sat with my husband watching a confusing episode of LOST. My mind was wandering and I asked him pointedly "how long do you think you can put up with me not having a job?" His immediate response: "as long as it takes." Clearly, the question confused him. But I definitely feel like I'm on loser status. I wake up at 10:00. I stare at the wall and wonder what to do with the day. Yes, true- I manage to get stuff done. I am aggresively seeking employment, but I don't feel like I am contributing to society- or my household. And my husband reminded me that for quite some time he didn't have a job and it was me that supported him. Those first months when he immigrated from the U...
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