“How would you like to be my next EX-boyfriend?“
Just because he’s “moved on” – doesn’t mean all of him has. Sometimes parts of him carry “baggage” from the previous relationship.
And in this case, this “baggage” bitch slapped me all the way to the hospital. during my first week of college. Oh, and the best part – having to tell my mother that I have a sexually transmitted disease that may cause me to have to start college late. and by late I mean the following school year.
How do you think she took the news?!?! Especially since she had warned me not to sleep with him. Her exact words were “Don’t sleep with him. He’s in the military.” There are times you mother is right and there are times when your mother is RIGHT. This was not one of the times that I wanted her to be RIGHT.
But let’s back up to the beginning. And if you haven’t read “Will you be my future ex-wife? BEST. MARRIAGE. PROPOSAL. EVER.” then you better start there.
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By the time my parents took me out for my 18th birthday lunch the Marine and I were in a full blown relationship. We had only seen each other once, and known each other for less than a week, but we were destined 2 b 2gether 4 eva n eva. #hotmess I think what I liked most about him was how much he “loved” me. certainly more than my parents did. but I was a difficult child. and we all know that “difficult” is code for wild. and if by wild you mean trying to be out past 9:30 pm. then I was the WILDEST. CHILD. EVER. Anywho, I decided to tell my parents about my new boyfriend/future ex-husband who I was probably going to marry and divorce but not before I had 5 million children with him and lived happily never after (and if none of this makes sense to you then you REALLY need to read. “Will you be my future ex-wife?” AGAIN #struggle).
I’m not the kind of girl who brings guys home. or even girls if we’re being honest. Usually because I want them to stay my boyfriend/friend/acquaintance/frienemy. So I decided not to rush this introduction. I broke it down into 3 steps: mention, meet and marry. I would mention him to my parents, then introduce him, and finally if he survived steps 1 and 2 – marry him. So far I’ve only ever made it to step 2. #futurecatlady After reading about my mother aka “The Dictator” I think y’all are beginning to understand why.
Upon mentioning that I had a boyfriend my parents asked the standard questions: Where is he from? What does he do? Where does he live? etc., etc., etc. After I answered the standard questions, we returned to the awkward silence that usually accompanies our meals. Either that or a lecture that makes me wish there was awkward silence. Either way when the meal was over I was more than happy to go home. with leftovers. y’all know how much I love food. even more than I love my weave. now that’s a lot of love. #fatgirlproblems
After we got in the car my mother turned to me and blurted out, “Don’t sleep with him. He’s in the military.” I looked at her like she had just told me “We’ve decided to adopt. a dog.” Africans don’t do pets. unless they are edible. then they are just called food. #hotmess
You have to understand. My mother and I have never been “close”. When I was 12 years old I got my first period. I remember being confused, yet excited. All my friends and every coming of age movie said that after you get your first period you and your mother have a “heart-to-heart”. So the day I got my period I was fully prepared for this rite of passage, however awkward it may be. My mother’s entire “heart-to-heart” was two sentences long – “You’re a woman now. You can get pregnant.” #wtf So for her to even mention sex, let alone me having sex was SHOCKING. and mortifying. and SHOCKING. and mortifying. I think I died of mortification at least 9 times on my way home. but my shock kept bringing me back to life. #lifesupport
The next couple of weeks were a whirlwind. Between getting engaged, getting ready for college, being engaged, getting ready for college, being engaged, getting kicked out of my house, being engaged, and oh yeah….getting ready for college – I was running around like a chicken with my head, arms and leg cut off. #hotmess
Somewhere in the midst of all this chaos, I had my pre-college physical. No biggie. A week later I had a follow up appointment. My doctor told me my preliminary results had come back and I had an elevated white blood cell count which meant I was probably fighting off some sort of infection. NO biggie. She promised to let me know the final results when they came in. NO BIGGIE. I mean what could be wrong?!?! I felt fine and I was had a million to worry about like oh I don’t know – my engagement, leaving for college, getting kicked out of my house….
But when my mother I arrived on campus a couple days later I began to have a stomach ache. It wasn’t that bad so I brushed it off. By by the next day the stomach ache had become constant pain. in my ass. but I was busy. trying to find a home for my babies. but I think most of you know them by another name…shoes. #luvdembabies
But once the fervor of moving was over I began to realize that this “stomach ache” had turned into pure agony. So my mother and I went to the university clinic. and then to the university hospital. I spent the day being poked, prodded, scanned – I swear it was like an episode of House, M.D. except for the 5’2 African woman terrifying the residents.
They always say doctors make the worst patients. Well let-me-tell-you doctors who have sick children are even worse because the ONLY thing that will satisfy them is answers. And in my case, NO ONE any answers. and everyone was “INCOMPETENNNNT!!” I swear when my mother gets pissed off she adds an extra syllable and a half to every insult. and she had passed pissed about four hours in to this adventure. through hell. I think she may have made a few residents cry or at the very least wished they’d gone into a different speciality. or called in sick. or…..#anywherebuthere
After 8 hours they still had no diagnosis, no solution and a irate African reeking havoc in their ER. So for their sake, and probably mine – I was exhausted – they released me with prescription for Percocets and the instructions to come back….without my mother (just kidding #loveyoumom) if things worsened.
If? They should have said when. because things got worse. wayyyyy worse. #911
End of Part 1.
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Here’s Part II – better late, than never right? #loveyoutoo: Just because he’s over his ex….doesn’t mean his d*ck is too. #fml – PART II
love you betches,