Not For Sale

I think I’m a bad boyfriend. Or I mean, if I were a boyfriend, I would be a bad one. I can’t seem to take care of anything besides additional overhead costs, marketing strategies, and budgets.

Many years years back, I received a call from a good friend of mine on my birthday. Are you responsible? He said. I kind of wtf? right back at him. Just answer it he said, and of course I in turn replied that I was. Later that day, he brought me a pair of gold fish as a present. I named one bubbles, the other flipper. About a week into my gold fish maintenance, I accidentally dropped bubbles down the sink while tank cleaning. For a week straight, I flushed little pellets down the sink hoping bubbles would somehow survive off the food. Flipper passed away shortly after.

Two of my best friends sent flowers to my workplace as a “congrats on your new job” gift. They came in a bright orange vase and looked vibrant and healthy. Despite my attempts at maintaining them, a couple days later, my flowers looked like they had been sitting on a tombstone for a month. Hell, even my IKEA “lucky bamboo” that requires NO maintenance is dying on me.

I think I’ve come to acknowledge the fact that with my track record of relationships lasting about as long as pets and vegetation, and my inability to keep pets or plants, I am probably not the best person to be in a relationship with. That, coupled with the fact that all my plants and pets die within a less than perennial life cycle (unfortunately the same can’t be said about my ex-boyfriends, har har – I’m joking btw), makes me think twice about ever being in a relationship. I think despite my goodwill and best efforts to take care of things and people, maybe what I really need is someone to take care of me (?).

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