You First

Have you noticed that some relationships resemble a dance?  At least for me, they do.  I'm always waiting or the guy to lead for fear of stepping on his toes. 

He's the first to ask for a date.

He's the first to hold hands. 

He's the first to move in for a kiss.

He's the first to show physical symptoms of liking our time together. 

He's the first to say those three little words. 

He's the first to talk about marriage. 

He's the first to daydream about kids.

He's the first to get the new car. 

He's the first to move out of the bedroom. 

He's the first to leave the marital home for days at a time in fits of rage. 

He has to be the first to see other people. 

I can't do it. 

I can't. 

Despite my lectures from a male friend about being human and needing to consider my own needs, I can't bring myself to be with anyone else. 

That thought makes me eat.  This is probably why I'm 17 pounds over the limit of decent looking.  The extra pounds are hard on my knees but the fatter I am, the less awkward situations I endure with  other men.  Few of them can tolerate lard.  

Okay, the truth of the matter is that I have a friend living in the basement.  I cannot communicate with him.  I don't know who he is anymore.  Still, I think he thinks he has a chance and I want to make sure he moves on before I do. 

I can't stand it when people hurt my exes.  Why should I hold myself to a different standard? 

I must be insane.