I never wanted to marry my dad.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my dad, and of my two parents, I am closer to my dad. But, while my dad is intellectually curious and deeply compassionate (qualities I love in him), he is also almost unbelievably incompetent. (The man didn’t know how to buy postage stamps when my parents divorced.)
I value efficiency far too much to be with this kind of man. I’d expect any average twelve-year-old to know how to buy a stamp. (Well, at least pre-millenials.) And I don’t think having a penis automatically gives an exception to being able to function on a basic level in the world.
Apparently men do not agree.
A friend of mine tells a story in which her husband regularly opens the fridge and asks where the ketchup is. Really? Is it because I have a vagina that I should have a homing beacon on the condiments?
Umm, no. Open your eyes and find the damn thing yourself.
Yeah. Add my unwillingness to babysit someone’s search for everyday objects to the list of reasons why I’m single.
Wanna Sass Back?