Some men just don’t leave. I’m talking about the “bad men.” The ones who need you. The ones you can’t leave. The ones you invite back, in spite of Auntie’s and Becca’s and Mary’s and Journal’s warnings, pleadings, predictions, evidence, and wisdom worthy of iGoogle’s “Yoda Quote of the Day.” The men you do several rounds with. The ones who love your “essence,” and want to keep you hidden and tucked away, forever. The ones we mostly don’t even like, but with whom we have a “connection.” The in-between men. The men who are more like something you ingest from a tiny plastic bag when you start to get the shakes.
They are like chickens: they hunker down, lay their eggs, and keep them warm:
And then one day, we wake up, and figure out just HOW to break the connection:
How do you like YOUR eggs?