How To Open a Can of Worms with a Lace Bra.

Question: how many bad boys does it take to turn a misguided, perhaps naive, yet well intended woman into a can opener? Huh? Yes, that was my question. I want to know what it takes to get a perfectly good woman to act in a completely irrational way? Love. Love is what it takes.

I am no stranger to irrational behavior so I am going to share with you how not to behave in a relationship where you love someone and they don’t understand what you are on about. This information comes disguised in other instruction, the two step, step-by-step guide on how to open a can of worms with a lace bra. Whatever you do, don’t follow these instructions. Just be aware that it is possible to open a can of worms with a lace and bra and stay far away from both lace bras and cans of worms.

Can of Worms

Any one person that promises the world but fails to return a call, make an impromptu, unsolicited visit to you, take you out on a date or call before 8pm on a weekday is a can of worms. Insisting on unveiling who they really are is a bad, bad idea. Don’t keep saying, “Maybe with time…” . Maybe with time nothing! Step out of the crimson light, take a cold shower and gulp down a jar of reality. That man, that woman is what we call a classic can of certified worms.

loveLace Bras

To immerse yourself in total and utter regret and perhaps even cause yourself to unnecessarily gain a few pounds on pity-party ice cream and junk food, go ahead and use sex to lure an uninterested man into being interested in you. The fastest way to more agony is to try open a can of worms with a perfectly good padded lace bra. The sexier the bra, the bigger the heartbreak too. So take care to remember to call yourself an ambulance, the next time you attempt to trap unrequited love into reciprocity.

Conclusion

Love yourself a little more than the thrill. Chemistry is fantastic but nothing beats love that chooses to stay, to talk, to come back the next day. That love is worth the wait.

I Hate It

Now, the following thoughts are not to be taken as an account of my life. Some of the feelings I express here are mine and real; a great deal of what I’ve written here was inspired by those feelings. That said, thank you for reading.

alone

I Hate It.

I hate it when after a stormy night the sun wakes up brighter and more cheerful, adamant to annoy me with its brilliance and jauntiness. I hate it because I am still feeling blue, I couldn’t sleep a wink and my eyes are awfully puffed up from bursting into tears every hour of the night.

I hate it when I see you smiling very dearly and sincerely, eyes beaming with indifference as if you are mimicking that after-the-storm sun that I hate so much. You are smiling because you are genuinely happy, happy that you got me where you wanted me, glad to still have your life intact.

While mine falls apart with each passing moment, you beam on like the ray of Hope others have come to believe you to be. Man of the people, kissing on babies and helping old folk cross the road. Sharing your revolutionary message of hope with thousands who will hear it. I wonder how many know the words you use in your television interviews and on social media are mine. Verbatim.

I hate the grey suit you wore in the publicity picture you took for the press. You once told me your ex had liked to pick grey suits for you, even though she knew you hate grey. You said grey made you feel old, habitual and uninteresting and that you wanted everyone to know, just as I did, that you were anything but. You then kissed me with such emotion it took my breath away, told me no one knew or understood you the way I did. I hate that suit more than you ever did. Seeing you in it today makes me wonder who the heck is picking your suits now.

I hate that you haven’t had the decency to dump me. Mr On-Your-Honour has failed to honour a commitment he never meant to make. You avoid my calls and return my request for    courtesy with deafening silence. Tell me, what kind of man decides who exists and who is invisible? I cannot understand any of it and I hate it.

The Motions

On Wednesday 15 December 2004, I sat down and “journaled” a piece of my mind at the time. Today I’d like to share those thoughts that I have now named “The Motions”. Here goes..

The Motionsimage

I have been through the motions, the ones I had heard happen to people in my disposition and yet no one dares to speak openly about. What puzzles me about my mind is that it knows to preserve what it finds useful and discard what it deems too unbearable to keep.

For instance, now that we have had our lovers’ spat, resolved it and dived back into love again, I can’t seem to recall all those feelings of aloneness and fright I felt when our love was in crisis. I love him, this man. He charms my fears into a trance and makes me believe I am much braver than I think. With him by my side, it feels as if I have always had the courage to pursue my heart’s desires. Sometimes it is almost as if I have always known him, always been his friend.

And to him I am the world; I allow him to be the knight he was told he could never be because no knave from his neck of the woods ever carried a sword.

Yesterday I was like driftwood, surveying the lay of the ocean aimlessly because of a broken heart. Today he is my hero, my promised once again. These motions are enough to make me sick.