People of the blogosphere, I have an exciting announcement to make: my hot secret boyfriend (so secret he doesn’t even know about it) bought me a jar of salsa last week. You know what this means, right? It means he fucking WANTS me! Yeah, yeah he’s about 10 years younger than I am. And he’s newly married. But whatever, he totally wants me. I can tell by the way he handed me his credit card last week when we were playing hooky from work. It was so romantic. Sure he had run off because his wife had asked him to pick up some chicken fingers, but let’s just not focus on that.
Last night he was in my dream. We ended up in a car accident, but the important thing is that as soon as the car crashed and he realized we were both okay, he reached forward, grabbed the back of my head and kissed me. Romantic. I know. Fuck the rest of the dream, who cares what happened.
Tomorrow my imaginary relationship continues with our third fake date. We’re having lunch together, at Five Guys. Romantic, I know. Too damn bad that I suddenly broke out and have the biggest pimple on the face of my earth on my chin. Now I have to figure out how to keep turning my face so he doesn’t see it.
Note to self: don’t let him sit on your right…