I Met A Woman

I met a woman. THE woman. The woman I’m going to marry.

A month ago I called my mom. “I’m done dating. I’m tired of getting hurt. I’m tired of hurting people. The love you keep telling me about isn’t real. It’s all Hollywood drama and poorly written at that. People date for a while, decide it’s time to get married, and then just hope for the best.”

I’d prayed for someone to come along. Well. That’s not true. I prayed for clarity. I wanted to know what the fuck to do. How does someone who truly believes that a man’s purpose on this Earth is to be a good husband and better father make it to my age and still have (absolutely) no idea how to get there?

But then I met a woman. A silly message on a shitty dating website with an expired account. She was beautiful though. So I paid my thirty bucks for one more shot.

A month later and I’m starting a blog to say everything I can’t say to her because she would think I’m absolutely batshit crazy. I am batshit crazy. But I honest to God, Babe Ruth in game five of the ’32 series, sure as I’m sitting here, know I’m going to spend the rest of my life with her.

Shes the same as me in all the things I like about myself. She’s better in all the things I don’t.

I’m a professional speaker but my voice is constantly cracking. I’m a professional writer but for the life of me I can’t figure out what to say. Im a professional convincer but my deepest fear is suddenly that my biggest case will be convincing her to be with me.

Everything makes total sense. But absolutely makes zero sense. Because I met a woman.

 

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