Some people might say that I’m a cold bitch when it comes to fellas but I’m well within my rights to be, considering the back story.
I was raised as ‘inherited’ baggage by a man who couldn’t
stand the sight of me and whose surname, as much as I hate, I have been
unable to shed ever since.
My relationship history consists of only three fellas - each
one now a distant, painful memory of a Sexually Transmitted Disease. Each relationship ironing out a crease that
only a lifetime of dysfunctional ‘paternal’ conditioning could have ever
initially created.
Is no wonder I have developed fighting talk, special combat
moves and general dislike for men as potential boyfriend/father to twin
children material. Is also incredibly surprising that most of my ex’s aren’t already pushing
up daisies from underneath the patio.
I fell in love with my first boyfriend (because I didn’t
know better), I rebelled with my second (because I should have known better)
and I got slammed back down into the real world with my third fella (because I
was soon to know better!)
Each experience, despite how frightening, soul-destroying,
demeaning, demoralising and challenging they were, equally taught me one valuable universal lesson.
Me and penis’s are absolutely no good together.
