I may be a collision course of a woman, all mud and broken ribs.
After you’ve been tossed off the monster truck of my emotions, that trip in the fuel-efficient hybrid feels good, doesn’t it?
Perhaps I am reading far too into these figures, but there is a noticeable trend. With the exception of the British boy I left behind my semester abroad, my former boyfriends all ran as far away from me as possible and straight into the arms of another, calmer, woman.
Here are the numbers:
The first is happily married in Chicago.
The second is engaged in Hawaii.
The third is still yearning in England.
The fourth is in a serious relationship in Ukraine.
And that leaves me a warpath of a whirlwind in New York – all broken bones, black and blues, and bloody noses. Come back soon. Wish you were here.
