Or Part Two of “I’m a gonna make you puke.”
Prompted by Tara’s comment, for those haven’t caught up, here is the Meet Cute story of AB & Mel:
Has anyone been reading long enough to remember this story? Or this? Eat those words, Mel of never dating a 20-something. And, well, everything else that I wrote.
EVERYONE who knew the both of us told me to stay away from him. So, I did. For like eight months of him laughing while reading my blog entries about all the other “douches” I decided to give a chance.
Yes, “AB” is Arrogant Bastard (not “Awesome Boyfriend,” as Kelly thought — although, he is very Awesome Boyfriend). Is he still arrogant? Yep. Cocky? Eh, I like to call it over-analytical. Systematic, even. Get on my nerves? Surprisingly, I don’t think ever, except for those times as previously linked — and well before “dating.” And I can’t for the life of me remember who the “other guy” was in whom I was interested. Huh.
Who would have fucking thought, right? First date, I told him I agreed to finally go on a date with him because I wanted to know WHY all our communal friends gave me such sage dating advice (and, well, we kinda made out in Chicago the weekend before. WHAT? He’s hot!). That’s a PERFECT reason to start dating someone, right?
Ironically, with him I have such refreshing honesty and emotional stability. Complete acceptance. And ideas, values, thoughts, life goals and “wants” more in common than ANYONE who I have previously dated. He can be cocky all he wants. I wonder why before that bothered me so much.
So, yes, he can laugh at me on days when I’m all love-y and silly, and remind me that I once hated him. And he smiles. And I melt. Or he’ll take his shirt off. And I’ll get horny. And melt some more. Or just lick his balls. Whatever. Just like whenever the time was that I decided to fall for him.
Never listen to my advice, for what it’s worth. I can’t vouch that every douche bag you meet will turn into a meet cute.
Mostly warted, horny little toads… which are far, far from cute.
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