3.

Well, if history really does repeat itself, then please let the good lord be good and strike me down right now.

I've seen it.
An epidemic of broken hearts and forlorn lovers swept through central Massachusetts and continued on to Boston this summer, leaving a trail of bruised souls in its crooked path. A nasty plague of debauchery and esoteric lovemaking.

I've been freed!
From the legion of women who squawk about why he chose to run the clothes through the hot-hot cycle instead of warm-cold. Let loose from the gaggle of females who's ascerbic tongues curse your name for buying the cats hairball control formula when it SHOULD BE PRINCESS DIET! DAMMIT!

I've regained control.
It's scary when your brain forgets how to function independently. For example, dinner can never just be dinner. Let me explain:

"What would you like for dinner tonight dear?"
"I dont know, what would you like for dinner?"
"Well thats what im asking you. What would you like for dinner, DEAR?"
"I don't know, what are you in the mood for?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure, what are you in the mood for?"*

BOGGLES THE MIND!

Besides, I always suspect a pose, an affectation of affection.

In a world of shared bank accounts, his and her tampons, date nights and pet names, I stand up. After months of deliberation and crying the saltiest tears I've ever tasted, I stand up.
I stand up and exclaim "IT'S TIME TO BE SELFISH!"
I stand up and whoop "LIVE FOR YOURSELF, WE ARE YOUNGGGGGGUH!"

I say "LIVE FOR YOURSELF, WE ARE YOUNG!"

g.m.b


*overheard at Hannafords.