Author's Note: I was going to write about prognosis and such but this chair is far too comfy and these cinnamon bears are keeping me company in this chair and making me too lazy to get up and grab the book. And its still hot here and its night -- okay, I'm just lazy.
Since splitting from my husband, I have taken a vow of chastity. (Little did I know that I would also be taking a vow of extreme poverty as well, but that belongs under a foaming-at-the-mouth-rant about the SSA.) I took mental inventory of my past relationships and came to the informed decision that I need to stop kissing toads. I have voluntarily taken myself off the market, where I am not in high demand. Today I saw a guy that looked like an ex of mine from days of yore. A 500 times hotter version. Of course I slithered out of the house without a shred of makeup, my hair in shreds and sticking up all over because I didn't take the time to make it behave, and wearing a pair of cutoff shorts that my little sister won't let me wear in public with her because they are so ratty and worn. All the things I needed to do today deserted my brain and I ogled with all the abandon of an older-than-him and not hot woman. It even crossed my mind to talk to him -- I'm not shy -- but my sacred vow of chastity made me rethink my desire to trip him, hog tie him and toss him into the back of my truck to live out his days under my bed. Or at least until I got tired of him, which might take a month or two. I even told both my sisters about it, he was that hot and the first guy I have looked at for awhile. He was working (an armored car type job) so that helped keep the chastity thing going a little longer. That and this little thing called "Multiple Sclerosis."
Him:Excuse me, ma'am, I'm trying to work. The depends are down that aisle.
Me:You're hot when you talk!
Him: Uhhh, okay... don't make me call in my hideous, decrepit, old coworker to restrain you.
Me: (disappointed) You won't restrain me yourself?
Me: Will you frisk me?
I walk away and he notices the way I walk and asks that dreaded question that I get so sick of hearing (almost as much as, "But you look so good!"), "What did you do to your leg?" And there my fantasy hits a brick wall. Maybe in real life it would not be such a big deal, but I really, really dread having to explain it all. My little sister says I don't have to tell anyone anything anyhow. And I know that is true, but MS is hard to hide. Why don't I work? I'd love to tell you but that information is classified. Why don't I have two pennies to rub together? Keep asking these questions, son, and things could get very ugly for you and your kneecaps. I also know that for a non-toad my MS will not be a good reason to stay single for, even though it snuggles in my arms all night and wraps itself around my right leg by day, and that is what I am holding out for. I also feel I should throw in this disclaimer: I am not looking right now. I never enter a new relationship until I am over the old one and in a good place again. What do I have to offer if I am still wrangling with the issues that ended my marriage? And they are not all about the MS, by the way. I have high hopes of breaking my previous record for Most Time Spent Single.
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