rent-a-boy bullshit
Renting, as opposed to leasing (or, heaven forbid, actually owning) is a common affliction among us today. You end up dating this guy for months and you're not seeing anybody else, and he's not seeing anybody else (at least, you think he's not seeing anybody else), but you don't actually call him your boyfriend because he doesn't actually call you his girlfriend.
The next thing you know, you're having the I-Think-We-Need-to-Talk Talk (always prefaced with those six crushingly familiar words), and he's broken up with you when you weren't sure you were even going out in the first place. Which is how you end up mourning something you never knew you had, asking yourself questions--Should I have done this differently? Not said that at all?--that you didn't even know you were serious at the time. The whole thing becomes a downward spiral of regret and second-guessing . . . .
I write the articles about how shitty men can be, she edits the articles about how shitty men can be, the magazine publishes the articles about how shitty men can be. And yet, we're all still surprised at how shitty men can be. It's a clear-cut case of the blind leading the blind.
**Definitely copied mostly word for word from my new book I'm reading, How to Meet Cute Boys, by Deanna Kizis. It rings true for me, how about you guys?? I somehow get the feeling I'll be adding quite a few quotes/passages from this book. We all need a little advice now and then. ;) Reading this helps me to realize I'm not the first, last, or only person to deal with the bullshit.