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I certainly wasn’t doing a good enough job on my own. With plenty of inappropriate male genitalia pics and one creepy panty thief under my belt, I was ready for the professionals to step in and turn things around.
What was the harm in getting a nudge in the right direction?
If only I knew then.
Thad’s ugly text stabs me in the heart.
I can’t marry you.
My lips curl up as I glare at myself in that waiting chair. Past Me has no idea how things are going to turn out.
Hell, no one would have guessed.
Thad and I were perfectly lined up on paper.
Great communication. Check.
Physical attraction. Check.
Stable job. Check.
No kids. Check.
Similar values and world-views. Check and check.
Sexual compatibility. Meh.
But Past Me hadn’t stressed about the lukewarm action. Research assured her that a good relationship was built on more than the physical connection. Commitment required maturity and responsibility, not a partner’s ability to blow her mind in bed.
Which is true.
And I was willing to overlook that particular flaw in my relationship with Thad for the stability I would gain dating a ‘good’ guy.
But after trying my hardest, it still crashed and burned.
My feet barely touch the floor I’m so pissed off. So hurt. So freaking embarrassed.
The wedding, the engagement—it’s flown completely off the rails.
I like plans. I like order. That’s where my obsession with lists came from.
I check those lists. Follow them. Do everything in my power to make sure my life goes according to the plan.
And when my carefully laid plans fall apart…
Yeah, I can’t handle that.
Anger singes my veins.
My vision clears and the Past Me is gone.
I realize I’m just staring at the Make It Marriage client now.
He’s still got his head down.
He’s still shaking.
I’m compelled to warn this guy, who looks like he has no problems getting women to date him, that he’s barking up the wrong tree. Maybe I can spare him from some of the pain I’m going through.
