3 Strikes and you’re out!

S and I came to an extremely valid conclusion last night!

No more menfolk with the same first name as Maybe. Ever.

This is why:

1: It’s 2008, Keep in mind that I’m young and foolish, I did a lot of things on this day that I would never do now. I met a guy, he had the name. He was hot and he asked me if I wanted to go to the mall with him sometime. He was one year older than me. Turns out, he was pretty much a  psychopath. He seemed off the whole time we were shopping, plus he brought a friend, which was fine, but weird. He offered me a ride home and since it was pouring I took his offer. Two things then happened. First of all, I was in the front seat with his friend who was driving and he was in the back, in the middle of a conversation he leaned forward and whispered ” what would you do if I stuck my finger in your ass?” in my ear, to which I so sweetly replied “kill you.”. Then, instead of driving me home, his friend drove me to his house so he could grab something he claimed to need, we went inside and his friend disappeared and El Creepo moved in on his prey- me. When I declined him he freaked out and stole my purse and cell phone. I only got out by telling him I was pregnant- a lie. This was the first and ONLY time I ever went out with someone I met at work.

2: In May a man, who had the same name, told me that if I wanted to get respect and consideration from people I should “really  think about hitting the gym”.

3: Maybe. You’ve read it, you know it.

One, Two, Three strikes, and weeeeeee’reeeee outtttt!

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