Wouldn’t it be great if we could pick who to love? They would always be appropriate, kind, well-behaved gentlemen who have good relationships with sane mothers you can shop with.
Instead I always seem to choose crazy men, with unresolved childhood issues who can’t commit.
While some women wish for rock stars, all I want is a friend. Someone I respect, who hopes for children and will know, no matter how cranky I get when he leaves the seat down for the four hundredth time, I really don’t mean it.
But what did I get? Who did I fall in love with? You got it in one. A rockstar. I didn’t have any clue how quickly I would wish it was only the toilet seat I had to worry about.
Soon I had to worry about whether my rock star saw me as a simple groupie. And I had to worry about the competition, because, you know, when you're in love with a rock star there's a lot of it.
Then I had to worry about getting caught, after I started killing off the competition. Now that I have been caught, half the time I can't tell whether my cellmate is a man or a woman. Let me tell you . . . I'm back to worrying about the toilet seat in ways I never dreamed possible.
Opening: Julie Sellers......Continuation: Freddie