Not so set in stone
While cleaning out my garage, I come across a small, brown, carefully-wrapped, unmarked box. As I unpeel the tape from the package and uncover the contents, I find myself taking a stroll down memory lane as I pull out a red-leather banded watch with a diamond inlay, a gold promise ring and a platinum engagement band.
I remembered now — this was my “stuff that my ex-boyfriend game me” box, “stuff I don’t know what to do with now that we’re not together but can’t find the guts to throw away” box. I had packed away all proof that a relationship with the guy ever existed and had thrown it in the back of my garage, but apparently, I had forgotten to write on the top of the box in all caps, “DO NOT OPEN.”
So there it was again, things I still, after four years, had absolutely no idea what to do with and didn’t have the guts to toss in the garbage. As I always do when I’m in a pickle, I turn to Google. I type in “exboyfriend’s jewelry” in the search box and, lo and behold, I have 140,000 results. At the top of the list is exboyfriendjewelry.com, where girls can buy and sell jewelry given to them by their exboyfriends. The procedure was simple: register your name, post a photo of given jewelry with suggested price, along with a brief description of the ex who gave you the jewelry.
It seemed like an easy enough answer to the conundrum I was facing at the moment. But for some reason, something kept me from putting my jewelry up for auction. Was it the guilt of making cash off of a ruined relationship? Or was it just the strange feeling I got when I thought of some girl wearing my precious stones?
I shut off my computer and packed the watch, the promise ring and engagement band back in the little brown box. I taped it tightly shut and, this time, I wrote on the top with a red Sharpie, “HAZARDOUS. DO NOT OPEN.”
Good girls gone bad
Heading straight to my house after a one-night stand, a girl friend drinks coffee in my kitchen and ponders how she got to be so promiscuous.
She used to be all about boyfriends and anniversaries, but now, she’s not interested in anything more than hot hookups with guys she’ll never see again and casual dates with friends-of-friends.
“It’s that one guy. It’s his fault,” she says.
Every girl, at one point, believes in a happily ever after and a Snow White wedding. And then she falls for a bad boy who plays her like a pinball game and she abandons any idea of a prince charming.
Bad things happen to good girls, and she turns into a cynic who starts hiving when she hears the word “relationship.” She becomes all about having fun and non-commitment, and definitely all about casual sex.
But who’s to say casual sex is a bad idea? If she’s bringing her own condoms to keep herself safe, then girl, go for it, I tell her. She might change her mind at some point, but for now, she’d rather strut the walk of shame than march down the aisle.
To boob, or not to boob?
There are certain requirements to carrying out a given task: you need an apple seed to grow an apple tree and a champion horse to win the Kentucky Derby.
And, you definitely need double-Ds to have titty sex.
Any less, and it’s like having a full house party with a six-pack — there’s just not enough.
Granted, he probably wanted to show me that he could be adventurous in the sack. But an adventure in by 34-Bs?
He must’ve thought that dismounting my chest after already having attempted a titty session would have been a bit awkward. Or, maybe he really, desperately wanted to prove his wild side.
Whatever his reasons were, he kept on driving back and forth to no avail. In time he just utilized his right hand and came.
I guess it was a nice try, but he definitely won’t be trying that trick on me again. Ever.
