Was telling a friend about this gourmet lunch I threw together yesterday while my internet was down for two hours.
He replied that I’m #wifematerial.
Boy … did that make me want to throw up my lunch.
Not that it was him who said it. Just in general.
Like, once upon a time, I made a lot of decisions — all with the idea of having a future family.
Now, those days are behind me.
WAY behind me.
I’m looking to downsize by a lot. So I can gravitate to having a life more outside my house than in.
And do I want someone in my big space? No. Would I want someone in my future, smaller space? Also no.
I saw a meme about guys who say I love you after never having asked a single question about you. Reminded me of the latest Mike. Who thankfully has fucked off and stayed fucked off. Here’s hoping Scott learns that lesson after … 20 years?
And no this friend from yesterday is the opposite. Asks every question.
Like, I am the lazy one who doesn’t ask questions because I don’t think that hard about anything. Or, for that matter, have answers to questions. Because, again, lazy.
Unless someone is gonna pay for half my space, I don’t want them in it. Or even then, given my physical reaction to a compliment.
My grandmother once said, after my shirt got wet after I washed dishes, that was a sign I’d be a good wife someday.
I said it’s a sign that I’m fat that it’s my belly that’s wet.
She laughed. And I could tell she was proud.
Still fat. Still not a wife. Still happy.
I think she’d still be proud.