It's a cross between amusing and embarassing to look back on the things we've done in front of someone we'll later grow to be in love with. I've been looking back at some of the absolutely idiotic-slash-immature things I've done over the past two years in front of The Object Of My Affections (TOOMA, which is a handy acronym....I came up with another good one yesterday, dangit!....now what was it?........oh, screw it...it could've been a perfect sitcom code but it now flew out the window). Wouldn't you love it if life had a remote control? I would do-over about twelve things. Or smack my younger self. I'm telling you, she really deserved it.
And yes, he's labeled The Object Of My Affections, plural, because that's what he is. He gets adoration about seventy percent (almost typed "perfect"...how Freudian can you get?) of the time, with the other thirty encompassing rage, annoyance, and sadness.
There's a big story with this, but I'm not gonna even go there, as it would take an hour to type out. Let's just say I think of him a lot more than he thinks of me.
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