Strike Three


It’s finally happened. My friends have lost faith in my ability to find a man.

Like a tee ball right fielder relies on mom’s unfailing encouragement, I came to count on my friends for the pep talk. “Sure, this one might not totally suck, go for it.”

No more.

Me: Want to meet BeauWhoMakesMeSoGushyYouCan’tStandMeTheseDays?

Ely:  I thought we met, in front of your house?

Me: Wasn’t he hiding in the bedroom naked?

Ely: Hmmm no he wasn’t naked when I thought I met him.

Me: I’m sure you no longer bother committing names to memory.

Ely: Sometimes that’s true.

Instead of finding hope in my current happiness, my friends avoid me these days. I can’t blame them. They’re already scouring XStreet for a Sorry He’s an Asshat pick-me-up bouquet. When your love life is like so many Kansas City Royals seasons, a few promising starts but never able to maintain the momentum, even your most loyal supporters stop saying maybe next time, slugger.


Credits:  Belleza Jesse skin, Poetic eyes, Truth Rebecca hair, Naive Saquito sweater, Solange cami and Elymode long simple skirt; pic two changes to The Clubhouse Royals jersey and Truth Lisa hair with hat.


7 responses to “Strike Three

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