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Torture by dating

by:Yufengling     2019-09-26
I have never been allowed to go on a casual date and have never read, opened, purchased, borrowed or stolen a copy of the rules.
\"I \'ve always been proud of a more organic romantic way, rather than wearing a black dress that sticks together, on a night full of fragrance.
I \'ve always thought that love should bloom naturally instead of being pried away by a sports coat, good behavior and the cold, hard grip of the restaurant with a real tablecloth.
People should really show themselves and don\'t mislead either side because of a date. After all --
No matter how many polite coats a person can put on during the meal, still go home after the meal, put on worn-out pajamas and worn-out slippers, based on this theory, I jumped a few feet in the first place, into a few and a half
Serious relationship with the success of \"authentic\" men-
The man who spoke to my cat would say something like \"I support you with all my strength no matter what you do\" like a woman who likes Holland.
Love me, love my sweat pants-
The relationship never starts with a Friday night appointment (Too deliberately.
Of course, it has nothing to do with any blind person (Too scary)
Never involve the question of \"Can I See You Again (too dumb).
Saying something obvious will inhibit this stimulus.
If you ask, the answer is No.
If the air is full of hormones then yes you can see me again.
Some of the more traditional types may call them excessive methods.
Educated liberals, even--deep breath --of a feminist.
I always call it romance.
So how do I explain to give my number to someone I know casually, someone I usually call --
Because he\'s so \"Hollywood\", one player is so curious, the curious person wants to see the other, the hair --
On a Tuesday, half of livesWe met at a common friend\'s house.
He flirted and I was surprised at the beginning.
He never flirted before. -
He\'s a little college. I\'m a little liberal arts.
Just never been there.
I wonder why it\'s now.
He flirted some more and I was surprised to find that it didn\'t bother me.
I\'m in a relationship at 26 and just frustrated enough with my last romantic effort to find out if I \'ve got the formula all wrong.
Maybe I should try \"date\" instead of \"see\" or \"live together \".
\"Maybe the key to happiness is lipstick and nail art, let him open the door for me.
Maybe I should pay more attention to my hair.
Maybe the woman in high heels is true. . .
He looks good, too.
I think it\'s a ghost.
I took all the courage to flirt back. He likes it.
I like it. he likes it.
\"Look,\" I proudly told myself, \"You can date like everyone else.
So you don\'t have to pushup bra. Buy one!
\"He wants my number.
I gave him the rush to run with the big dog.
He called and left a message on Wednesday.
Reason and habit are back again.
I am very alert and have no impression.
He called again on Thursday and I was a little flattered by his efforts.
He had called seven times by Saturday and I felt good.
\"Let him make a phone call\" and when the phone rang again, I thought happily that I gave it to the voicemail.
So he pursued me. I like it very much.
What, except the rules-
Strengthening teenage sex is wrong, so if I want to go out with someone who doesn\'t say \"let\'s go get one\", sue me and see me there, \"then expect me to pay.
This time, I want to be treated like a toenail. painting, G-string-
Perfume-
I can be a woman with a spirit shake zedFace it --
The days of the dormitory have passed, just like being latenight, after-the-library-
When you\'re lying in his living room on a tapestry, turn off the loot phone and even those post-graduate sitcom scenes
Watch real world Honolulu with him and his four roommates.
Yes, I admit that I was excited to think of having dinner with someone who came to pick me up, who called from his car phone to book and who actually had an assistant instead of an assistant.
Say I\'m shallow, say I\'m bored.
Just call him.
He came to my house and sat on my couch while I made the final touches for makeup that my cousin never wore after her wedding.
I walked into the living room with anticipation as if my mother would take a snapshot around the corner with a camera before we went to the ball.
We smile a lot and I will definitely go and get a sweater in case he is in the mood to do something spontaneous like driving to Santa Barbara at night or jumping red
Head to Manhattan for dinner at Jean Georges.
He walked past a cat and did not bend over to touch it, opened the front door and suggested opening a restaurant by the water.
I listened to a foreign smirk and I said it sounded good.
I closed the door behind me firmly.
It\'s Friday night.
I was groomed, dressed and dressed.
I\'m ready for everything.
The restaurant was beautiful and the hostess smiled at us on purpose as if it were the smell we had on our first date.
He picked a bottle of wine and encouraged me to order an appetizer.
He casually mentioned a recent trip to Italy.
Of course, he is producing
Shoot cheap movies there and have little time to enjoy the beautiful Tuscan countryside.
However, he did squeeze out the opportunity to taste some of the local wines.
\"He\'s good at this,\" I think, and I find myself thinking that he\'s had dozens of first dates in his life.
After dinner, I tried to imagine him alone in his apartment with a beer in his hand and only wearing a pair of Beats --
Shorts in college and a worn-out T-shirtshirt.
I can\'t imagine this image.
He ordered a shrimp dish with endive, le and capers.
He pointed to the menu and said, \"they have great tiramisu here.
\"Contrary to the conditions of many years, I was impressed.
A second bottle of wine, a rum.
Later we landed in the stairwell with our lips locked and our hips slotted like bad music.
I pushed him away. The last thing he said to me was, \"I\'m going to take a cold shower. I think it\'s \"Woo\"\"That was fun.
I bet he called me tomorrow and said he couldn\'t wait to see me again.
After all, I can do this kind of dating thing!
\"Ah, the arrogance and casual self-confidence of the bearded woman ---everywhere --
Before putting on underpants with no holes, though she knows that no one is close to underpants tonight. (
Yes, at least we women know who is in charge of this.
Before we slide down the rocky slope into the valley where he never called, we have to maintain some kind of controlled appearance, or wade through them all the same river that flows downstream, both ways. )
I watched him leave and praised myself for doing well on a date.
\"This,\" I thought confidently, \"I\'m used to it.
\"Pride has expanded completely and I\'m waiting for him to call. He doesn\'t.
The days turned into a week, I became the child of Satan, the embodiment of
One day he will call me when he can no longer accept it.
No, no, I am the rules that have been pulled out, frustrated and confused, desperate to hope that I can regain my precious, fleeting sense of control when I am pursued.
On the seventh day, I was horrified to accept the fact that a person who called me seven times blew me away.
\"What did I say\" I wanted to know as if what I could say was understood and even heard when his tongue was in my throat, let alone considered.
I cried, \"How could I be so stupid . \"
He knows about tiramisu. -
\"He might practice his first date like some people practice religion: every Friday night.
\"Well,\" I sobbed.
\"Then I won\'t call.
\"I had an epiphany on the ninth day.
I stood in front of my closet, and at the moment of clarity, I realized that pride made me go straight to hell as usual.
I was horrified to realize that I left my favorite sweater behind his car.
I have to call now.
I suffered, failed, collapsed, and stood in the bedroom with my hands holding my head.
I lost the game.
For a second, I considered sacrificing my sweater for the greater good of femininity, for the reason that all women have been exhausted from being in the Netherlands all the time.
Guilt overpowered my social conscience because I remember my mother giving me this sweater on Christmas Day and she mentioned more than once how expensive it was.
No, I will throw the game away. I call.
I left you a random and witty message.
\"Haha, you know, it was too cold in Los Angeles in August and I \'d better get it back from you as soon as possible. \" Ha, ha, ha.
I hung up and was afraid that he would score in overtime without calling back. He calls back.
He told me he was out on business but would check the sweater when he came back.
As an additional goodwill, he said \"I don\'t know the number of the hotel, but you can call the information of Oahu If you want to contact me.
\"Yes, I can call the information of Oahu ---I am college-
Educated, often using the services of telephone companies without parental guidance-
But, dear, if I do call the message and hunt you on the ocean over 3,000 miles and the carua pig, I wonder why, I believe, each hardcover and paperback copy of the rules burns simultaneously in bedrooms, libraries and waiting rooms for women\'s medical groups across the country.
I will never be responsible for this massive destruction and terror.
I didn\'t call again until 10 days passed and I knew I had.
Ah, that sweater, the precious Holy Grail, The Guardian of thousands of broken hopes, dreams and desires.
Yes, I called again.
When I called, I drafted a witty, relaxed script.
Since he is never at home, I will leave a message on his machine.
I would use it to make a big joke, I would be lively, lively and sound rushed as if I had squeezed the phone between two dates and a lot of champagne.
He answered a question.
Paralyzed by the threat of a star.
69. I was dumbfounded to hold back the urge to hang up the phone tomorrow.
To what extent modern technology redefined the dating world is something we can\'t fully grasp in our lives.
We chat. I make light.
I asked him to give my sweater to a common friend and then he would give it back to me.
He said he will have more time next week and we should plan to get together so he can give it to me.
I asked him again to give it to our common friend.
He said he would call me tomorrow to schedule it.
He finally said, \"it\'s good to hear you.
\"I bit my cheek and resisted the temptation to scream into the headphones, not so much out of a desire to look calm, it\'s better to say that out of fear my neighbor will start calling me crazy girl in 3F.
I was almost left by the sight of a candle.
Ordered dinner, Italian wine and tuna platter, but these short miracles flew out of my mind as soon as they got into my head.
It was nice to hear my voice, his words settle down in my brain, and I strongly demand a rant, \"it\'s funny because, in my opinion, the easiest way to hear my voice is to call my number.
My voice is often heard at home.
\"No, I will stay calm.
I wouldn\'t say anything harsh, like, \"I bought a pair.
By giving your underwear, you said something stupid, \"instead, I smiled at the headphones and the weight of the woman pressed on my shoulder.
If I am skeptical, I will end calmly, \"I will talk to you soon.
\"That\'s it, then.
Three weeks later, these women in high heels found themselves here.
That\'s how the first date ends.
That\'s why I \'ve been eating pizza for years and started to fall in love on Sunday.
That\'s why all these books are written and why men think women are crazy and women are convinced that men \"don\'t understand\" at all \".
\"After so many years, men have not realized that the most attractive quality men can have is dial-up ability, which is really simple.
After all, our women are not high-
Maintain before our needs are met.
How complicated it is that you said you would call.
We were flattered.
You called.
We were surprised and surprised. You call again. We are hooked.
When the words spoken and the fingers dialed are actually Jebel, the mountains will move, the battle of eternity will cease, and Atlanta will be found.
Eleven days later, there was no phone call.
I\'m fidgety.
In the evening, I lay in bed and remembered the fine wool nap on my hips --
The length of the black sweater, feel the bitterness of the battle in my mouth.
I will never be soft.
I will get my sweater back somehow.
Fourteen days, I called again. He answers.
\"It\'s a pleasure to hear from you.
I still have your sweater.
Listen, why don\'t you come to this party on the Hill with me tonight, I\'ll take it with me.
\"Why don\'t you mail or send mules by parcel, or maybe you should tell me where to put a suitcase full of $100,000 non-marked bills, then we could just let it all stop I refused to let him think I had put on a helpless sweater show in my sophomore year trying to see him again and I refused the party.
\"How about tomorrow.
I\'m going to have a barbecue near your house right away.
I told him why you don\'t go to the burger with me and go out and play \"No, thank you \".
\"Why don\'t you call me on the way to the barbecue, you can swing around my house and put it down . \" \"Of course,\" he replied, without missing any beat.
How many times has he had his first date in the last three weeks and I was wondering when the BBQ time came and went. No phone call.
I left the house and told in detail the story I was going to tell my mother, how this sweater was torn off my shoulder while robbing the car, or How I lost it when I rescued a child from the undercurrent.
Maybe she will be most sympathetic to the facts. -
I became the prey of the bad guys.
Dating illness, I judged mistakes and sacrificed my gym clothes for women so that others could learn from my mistakes.
A few hours later, I got home and found a sweater hanging on the door handle. No note.
I checked the message. No phone call. It is finished.
The siege is over.
My Pilgrimage is over.
That night, as I drift to sleep, I see myself dancing through the haze of drowsiness, in a shiny black Calvin Klein bra and underpants with one in both hands
Next to me, keeping the perfect pace is a young and handsome creative type, wearing sweat pants under his carved chest.
He took the phone in one hand and handed me a flannel pajamas in the other.
He bent down and kissed me and whispered in my ear, \"help me put this on ---
You look sexy when you wear it.
\"I slept soundly and clut my sweater tightly in my arms.
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