I swear I'm allergic to receiving that good ole fashioned thing we like to call romance. I don't know what it is. Don't know what it looks like...don't even know if I'd know it if it smacked me in the face with a dozen of the kind of flowers that make my heart swell.

I don't know if my allergy was applauded and then adhered to because I'm clearly a boybian (dress like a tomboy...can do some pretty tomboy ish...I just don't know) BUT it's really hard on my ego.

I noticed the other day that I have started thinking dishwashing is actually romantic...Jersey can do the one chore that IS his to do in the house (we live in a big fricking place too) and I he's just recited the best frickin pickup line in the world. Jerry McGuire completions...the whole nine yards.

Deep down I know that's a load of bologna, though. Dishes aren't romantic no matter how you slice that bread that was stuck to the plate.

I was reading Maria Shriver's tweets today and she asked her twitter universe what was the last romantic thing someone did and I couldn't think of a single.damn.thing.

Playing devil's advocate I could say that it's hard to be romantic all the time, but that's poop dumb talk too because I don't even think I'd need it ALL the time...that's the magic of romantic ish--it can be stretched out and pulled. You can store those sentiments in pieces and pull them out and hold them close when you need them. I needed one of those today, but couldn't dig one up. The last time I went on an actual date was almost close to two years ago.

I do romantic things for my friends and Jersey all the time. (Yes you can do romantic, sweet things for your home girls, damn it) I know it's possible. I also know that it's usually the little things that count the most. I'm not expecting romantic trips to other countries where I'm fed grapes on a kiwi carpet here. Just a little something...we all lose parts of ourselves from time to time. We get so caught up in day-to-day minutia that we forget we matter...that we are someone and something substantial.

Having a total PMS epiphany here. I swear I wanted to pull an evil Snow Queen and destroy all rom coms of the world last night.  I was so upset over this little fact: I do not possess an anniversary. Jersey just conveniently thought there were no mile stones worth celebrating so we just don't. And then he forgets to send the letters he promised to send weekly (Christmas present) so I really can feel like chopped liver.

Anyone know of self dates I can take myself on? Because mama needs to be wooed...whether that wooing comes from me or someone else!


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