I'm going to go and love myself. . .

I'm going to let you in on a secret: I'm better at writing love stories than I am at living them.

It's not as if I haven't been surrounded by love my entire life. I've watched my parents and my siblings have successful marriages, raise amazing kids and I have countless aunts, uncles and cousins who have done the same thing.
Then there's me.

I think I'm just in love with being in love. Because I keep picking the wrong damn man. When I date dingbats, which is obviously what I do, I come up with a story of our relationship in my head that never translates into reality. And just like Britany Spears, Oops I did it again.

Here's the story:
Me and Dingleberry met in high school. Reconnected on Facebook. Exchanged phone numbers. Spent time together. He met the parents. Then poof, like a unicorn, he disappeared.

When a fire burns bright, it usually burns out the quickest. And ladies and gentlemen, here's the story line of my love life — or lack there of.

I'm not trying to get all Mimi Collins on you right now, but I'm seriously becoming a character in a Cheris Hodges novel.
Or even worse, my life is a dark romantic comedy —one that hasn't been filmed yet. But whatever.
So. 2017 will be the year of self-love. Yes, Justin Bieber, I will Love myself!


All of this will probably end up in a book at some point.