Things have gotten very quiet lately. It could have a lot to do with my reluctance to make bad decisions concerning men. Something at which I excel.
In my small town, they still talk about the boyfriend who set my house on fire. Accidentally. It’s over four years ago, but the parade of men since then, well, here we go:
4 years ago: Almost burnt my house down
3 years ago: Stalker
2 years ago: Wanted to wear my tattooed flesh as a leather jacket
1 year ago: Cross-dressing sex slave bondage porn star.
I’m not winning any awards on my choices. It may also explain why men are leery of me, given my recent past. Coincidentally, the weirdos popped up when I changed my career from banker to author. Go figure, right?
Besides being freaks of nature, these men are controllers. When they realize that, beneath my soft, kind, funny facade is a spine of steel, well, that’s when things get hairy.
After the last wackadoo, I decided to take a permanent sabbatical. That’s when things got real boring in my life.
Which explains why I’m at a crossroads. Should I open Door #2 and allow whatever’s behind into my life, just for the sake of other people’s entertainment?
Or, should I continue to stay home at night watching Swedish television and charring meals on my electric skillet?
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