I was dating a U.A.G. (see above) recently and I told him that the thought of a relationship made me want to vomit. This was, of course, over dinner at a semi-expensive restaurant.
The next day I got chocolates and a note on my doorstep.
I’m confused as to how our signals could have possibly gotten crossed. Equating a relationship to something you forcibly eject out of your system seems pretty clear to me. Maybe I should have said that I would rather be packed into a tight wooden box and spiked with sharp nails on all sides while listening to the English version of Aha’s Take on Me.
So next time I’m going with the pain metaphor instead of the bodily fluid metaphor. Less room for interpretation and more me not having to deal with chocolates and flowers. Yuck.