We’ve been engaged for a whole three weeks and it still feels like a fucking dream. I mean, seriously, I have managed to slip through the fingers of many eligible bachelors and bachelorettes over the course of my 37 years on this planet and somehow, here we are. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
In between episodes of Chimp Crazy, you roll onto me and fill me with more of your cum. Even though I think it’s despicable to try to domesticate wild chimps, I feel like I could very well become one of these people if I don’t get knocked up soon. Mama need a baby.
I have a problem with trolling trolls. You know this. I just can’t keep myself from leaving comments like, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” on posts trolls publish of themselves making fun of other people’s appearances. But I don’t stop there. I’ve started leaving comments on ads. Warning Prose followers to set calendar reminders about their discount subscription schedule since the app won’t. I think this is a problem. And I understand if it’s a dealbreaker. But I hope you can accept this as one of my charming quirks rather than seeing it as a very red flag.
I’ve never enjoyed beating somebody at anything as much as I love beating you each week at our Apple watch fitness competitions. Every time I see your points go up, I get a little jolt and find myself willing to do anything at all to surpass you. Jumping jacks on my way to the bathroom from the kitchen, curls while giving JOI, and climbing extra flights of stairs, you name it. Anything for a win. Anything.
We really need to figure out how to answer the question, “So do you have a wedding date yet?” I don’t even know if we’re having a wedding. Do you?
Sometimes I wonder how you get anything done. Every time I look over at you, at least one of your hands is down your pants, fiddling with your dick – protecting, covering, twisting, poking, and gripping it – and the other either swatting at me or reaching for a pet. It’s a goddamned funhouse over here.
I deleted my fertility app after Trump got elected (for obvious reasons) and it’s so fucking hot that you took it upon yourself to start tracking my cycle so you can predict my most fertile days and fill me up at exactly the right time to maybe get me pregnant. But I swear, we really can’t get engaged and pregnant (and possibly married) before we’re even living together. It’s just too modern.
Your mom and sister-in-law and best friends are already sending holiday cards addressed to both of us and it really hit me that we’re, like, a thing. And I’ve never been so turned on by being so attached.
Ok, so I really thought being engaged was going to be like being visibly pregnant. Like maybe there would be a particular kind of glow and people would just know I’d been changed in some big, perceptible way, and maybe strangers wouldn’t be able to keep themselves from stopping me in the street to say, “There’s something different about you! Are you recently engaged?” but that hasn’t happened. At all. Even when I find opportunities to slip, “I just got engaged,” into conversation, people seem not to notice. Like it’s not a big deal. And, honestly, fuck them.
Are we really engaged? Like, we just got back from Costa Rica, and we’re still engaged. It’s not a dream but an actual real thing, in reality, and I can’t stop staring at this ring. It already feels like it’s a part of me. I know it sounds lame af, but I feel sad when I have to take it off, even for just a few minutes to wash dishes or clean something, and I’m kind of embarrassed at how easily I’m fitting into this hetero stereotype rn. Like, shoot me. But don’t. But honestly.