A World of Naked Women and Athletics

It isn't that I didn't love him. It isn't that I didn't want to make a life with him. It isn't that I didn't care. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't live with a man who objectifies women. I couldn't live with a man who felt like being able to date stripper after stripper after stripper somehow made him a man. Not just a man, but the man that all men wished they could be. Yeah, I couldn't do it. It isn't that I don't like Playboy. I just need more reading material in my home. There has to be more to life than naked women, bicycles, and snowboards. There has to be. I know there is. But do you want to know a sad thing? I began to forget that. I began to live in a world that consisted only of naked women and athletics. What a sad, lonely, and dreary world I was living in. It isn't that those things are not good. Those things are fine. They just aren't good for me. What he liked wasn't good for me. What he liked was not for me. I guess that means he wasn't for me. But damn, I tried. I tried for 8 long years to make him for me. I tried for 8 years to make his lifestyle fit mine. I couldn't do it. All because he had the longest, prettiest, softest hair I had ever seen and felt and smelt. Because of his hair I gave away 8 precious years of my life, trying to make something fit that just simply didn't fit. I should be embarrassed. I'm not. I should feel ashamed. I don't. I now know that want I really want in my life is not a beautiful cover, but pages upon pages of substance.


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