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Anybody else get those seemingly-random flashes of anger during the day that sort of spring out of nowhere, and you have to talk yourself down?

I’m having one of those.

The memory of a recent quibble with Mr. Waffle popped into my head, in which we walked by Anthropologie and he said I’d look good in a frilly white dress that hung in the window.


Seems like a compliment, right?



I can’t fully explain why it set me off so. I’ve never been much of a girly-girl, and when we met on Match.com, part of what he liked about me (or so I thought) was that I called myself “The Anti-Princess.” I didn’t want to be pampered, coddled, or told what a special snowflake I was. I’m still that way, but I’ve learned to not compare myself to other women in such a derogatory way.

There’s a good chance that my temper flared as a result of walking by the friend/coworker with whom Mr. Waffle has become enamored. She’s pretty much your typical MPDG, and as much as I tried to tell myself she wasn’t when we started becoming friends, the evidence against her keeps mounting. I guess it just hit me in a funny way—for as much as Mr. Waffle said he didn’t want that kind of woman, that’s what he became obsessed with.


I feel angry, let down, frustrated, infuriated, Hulk-smashy. I want to shake him for lying to me. I want to call out all of his lies. I want to say, Remember when you compared me to cake and her to frosting? And said you want frosting until it makes you sick and then you never want frosting again? OF COURSE you want frosting. You’re an addict, and a dry drunk at that. You can barely control your drinking, much less your desire for “frosting.” You think she’ll be the cure to all your ills until she’s flounced out of your life, leaving a trail of expensive perfume that she got as a sample and treasures because, aww shucks, she made a career out of working at a coffee shop and can’t afford all the fancy sparkly things she loves because she’s so TWEE!!, and gosh, isn’t that adorable?

I am a jealous asshole.

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