I hate that . . .

the last man I dated might have heard me fart
the morning after hearing me yak up the previous night's burrito.

(i like to think he was asleep and snoring. or the air conditioning was especially loud)

but i might be wrong.

more than a week later, i still have a bruise on my left hip from knocking over my nightstand en route to the can.

i'm so attractive.
i love myself.

bite me.