We were moved in by day 7, already professing “I love you” and “Do you love me?” in whispers, on texts, running to him after work like I was in some damn Disney movie I loathe.
I lost my ever loving mind, people.
I know from reading as many self help books as I have that this is the nuclear of red flags, this “Let’s get Married and Fuck Like This Forever” flag.
If it helps you to understand my case, I met him barely a week after my car went in the shop for a new transmission.
“Money?” he said. “Baby I just need a good woman to help manage mine.”
Dear God. I need a blog name for him but it kills me because his nickname is too ironic, too perfect for me to even think up.
I’ll sit on it.
The man whirled me in, took my breath away and I mean literally people, cause I think I just gained consciousness, six long hard months later.
Mr. Hurricane? Nope. Not even that will suffice.
Anyone going to bed with “Women who love too much?” or “Codependency No More?”
I couldn’t be the only one but maybe I shouldn’t ask cause the lack of answer may drain the blood out of me tomorrow.