George Carlin has seven dirty words.
I have eight.
I know I have a gift for swearing like a sailor in traffic or when Marquette basketball gets under my skin, but there is one word I refuse to utter. At least when talking about myself.
The g-word.
It’s an icky word. A title I don’t subscribe to.
Crazy blogger girl? Yes. Catholic Herald reporter? Definitely. Sister, daughter, aunt, best friend?
Heck yes.
Girlfriend?
Um no. Stop throwing rocks at my comfort box. Back away from the commitment train. I don’t have a ticket. And I don’t plan on purchasing one. My suitcases will continue to be covered in dust. My web browser won’t even consider checking to see if there are any fare sales.
Problem is, I’m beginning to think someone packed my bags for me. Bought me a ticket when I wasn’t looking. And then amidst a bunch of emails, phone calls and text messages snuck it in there without me noticing. And now I have to decide whether or not I want to get on board.
So here I am. Sitting at work. Wondering if it’s time to file for a Facebook divorce from my best friend who has been my faithful online husband for goodness knows how many years and classify myself as in something other than "married to james."
Something other than single...and more like "it's complicated" or "in an open relationship" or the ultimate clincher-- "in a relationship."
Someone get the smelling salts. I think I’m going to pass out.
I have eight.
I know I have a gift for swearing like a sailor in traffic or when Marquette basketball gets under my skin, but there is one word I refuse to utter. At least when talking about myself.
The g-word.
It’s an icky word. A title I don’t subscribe to.
Crazy blogger girl? Yes. Catholic Herald reporter? Definitely. Sister, daughter, aunt, best friend?
Heck yes.
Girlfriend?
Um no. Stop throwing rocks at my comfort box. Back away from the commitment train. I don’t have a ticket. And I don’t plan on purchasing one. My suitcases will continue to be covered in dust. My web browser won’t even consider checking to see if there are any fare sales.
Problem is, I’m beginning to think someone packed my bags for me. Bought me a ticket when I wasn’t looking. And then amidst a bunch of emails, phone calls and text messages snuck it in there without me noticing. And now I have to decide whether or not I want to get on board.
So here I am. Sitting at work. Wondering if it’s time to file for a Facebook divorce from my best friend who has been my faithful online husband for goodness knows how many years and classify myself as in something other than "married to james."
Something other than single...and more like "it's complicated" or "in an open relationship" or the ultimate clincher-- "in a relationship."
Someone get the smelling salts. I think I’m going to pass out.
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