My Many Valentines
This Series of posts was a result of random musings that occurred while writing an exam. Theme-ing it in accordance with the supposedly-romantic celebrations the coming week.
“How’s your boy?”
“He is no longer mine.”
And that was that.
I cleaned up my souvenir box last week. It was about time I made room for the new Valentines.
“Sucks being a chick. We gotta look pretty all the time.”
“For girls like us, he has to be above twenty-eight.”
“At this rate I wouldn’t even mind getting married to a divorced guy much much older.”
“Divorcees are pretty ‘good’ I’ve heard.”
As I counted my change, he came behind me and said, “King lights. Classic mild.”
“He is thirty-something! He should be the older, more-mature one.”
“Trust me. He never was.”
“Sigh. I have lost all hope in men-kind. Maybe I should attempt to rediscover the bisexual in me.”