That Girl

I'm not that girl, but somehow I've become "that girl".

Oh, who am I kidding, I'm totally that girl. I invented that girl. I got her copyrighted, and patented, and took all her illegal uploads off youtube.

What girl is that, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. . .

I'm the girl who gets into bed in full sweats and eats Double Stuf Oreos straight out of the crinkly plastic thing, while watching Felicity on her laptop with headphones because her loving partner is laying beside her trying to read or something, who can really pay attention to what your lover is doing when Ben and Noel are fighting again! I mean, why can't Felicity just pick between them already? Clearly Noel is the right choice. Team Noel! Of course she'll never really choose him though. That's like Winona Ryder choosing Ben Stiller instead of Ethan Hawke in Reality Bites. It ain't gonna happen. Ben/Noel is just too good for her, and us women - we don't like what's good for us.

Case in point: the seven Double Stuf Oreos, washed down with Cupcake red wine ten minutes before I fall asleep.

The thing is, I know I'm about to be lectured about how bad that is for me slash how I should really get up and brush my teeth again slash how men do not usually find it attractive to go to sleep with chocolate-cookie-crumble-covered women, in baby spit-up stained sweats, hair in a bun, and wine-splash-stained glasses, that sit crooked on their face due to what I can only assume is a shrinking left ear. And normally I would agree with you, but in my case I don't because it appears as though the father of my child doesn't really care. Stop shaking your head at me, I pretty much got pregnant looking exactly the way I just described so maybe he likes his women to be on the verge of just giving up. Yesterday I did my hair and makeup, but forgot to change clothes, so I spent all day in my pajamas until about 5pm when I realized it and then decided to just say F it and stay in them to see if my baby daddy would even notice.

He didn't.

Well, either he didn't or he's just too nice to say anything.

I'm sure it's the latter. I'm also pretty sure he doesn't like his women to be on the verge of giving up, but again, his mama trained him well and he values his life so there's no way he would turn to me in bed and say, "Oreos and Felicity again? Shouldn't you be, I don't know, eating something healthy and wearing something a little less. . . puke covered?"

And that is why I love him.

Plus if he did try to say something like that I'd just go get this little sucker out of bed and point at her:





This is why I'm the way I am right now.





Worth it.