I have been vetoed. I am not permitted to choosing my own dates from here on out. A new selection process has commenced. It has been brought to my attention – oddly enough, I’m already aware- that I cannot choose quality men. Or rather… I’ve just been a bit unlucky. My picker is off. I’m blind to seeing the guy with value and tend to -accidentally- opt for the sack of dicks. Or the dude with the sagging… Uh, nevermind.
So, it has been decided. Without my input. Or vote. Or option to appeal. That my girls (friends, siblings, boyfriends of said friends/siblings, and the family dog too I guess) will be putting, any guy trying to take me out, on a chopping block. Hi, yes, I’d love to go out with you; But, not until I hand you over to the wolves. Good luck! If he can get through the rigorous waves of interrogation, I will be notified when I get to go out on a date. Maybe I should learn to knit sweaters for mystical creatures. This may take a while. Which, I was told, will be supervised. What?! Ok, I know I have a shitty dating history… but geez. Isn’t this extreme? Nope. No bending. Not a democracy. You’ve done enough damage. Now its our turn to break these poor saps down. Ah! I see it clearly now. Noted.
Ok. Sort of… A Rita’s boot camp for potential suitors. Oh crap. Can I at least watch through the two way mirror? Get a glimpse of what you guys are going… No. Dammit. That’s it. Might as well hang up all my sexy hooker heels and become a hermit. An old maid. Better pull out ye olde pasta maker. It’s all over and now I will have time to get back to my roots. I’ve always wanted to see if I remembered my cannery skills. Ah, just like Aunt Rose and I used to do in the summers. In the basement. I’m doomed. Apparently, I can pick the gentleman. I can talk to the gentleman. But after those initial meetings… I get bumped out of the way like a bad performer at The Apollo. Here kind sir, if you’d like to continue to talk to this fine beauty, please fill out an application. I see the cane. Hi handsome beau, it’s your lucky day! You, fine courter, have been chosen privy to our sanctioned selection process. I see the jester on roller skates. Nary just any boyfriend can survive the challenge of our controversial tactics. I bob and weave. But trust us, aristocratic wannabe, our best interest is for this beguiling stunner… And we will annihilate you. Huh? What’s happening? Why am I spinning? And where the hell did my date go? Shit. The natives have captured him. Its too late. Well… If Prince Charming can make it through my confidants fiery procession -shrugs- I guess he MIGHT, actually be the one. I knew they’d wamboozle me. I must give in to their demands and let them have at it. Bastards.
On the plus side… My friends and family must really love me to put me through this. Or hate me. Or they just enjoy watching me squirm and this is paybacks. For all the poo poo I’ve put them through. Maybe I should have thought twice about hiding my sisters shoe in her glove compartment that one time…