okay, so i’ve got this permanent grin plastered on my face. i can’t stop talking about this past weekend. my roommates are going to be so sick of my cheery disposition soon. it’s like those pair of pink cowboy boots that i got as a young girl. i wore them EVERYWHERE. i couldn’t get enough of them. they looked great with a jumper, skirts, overalls, they looked great with everything. even if they didn’t, i’d wear them anyway.
mr. mountainbike is my pair of pink cowboy boots. i want to put him on and wear him everywhere, showing off just how great i think he looks on me. i think it’s quite funny, looking back on the past few weeks, as these feelings for my boots grew, i still didn’t want to put them off and be flashy, for fear of them not fitting well and then having to be returned. but now that i’ve slipped him on, he’s the perfect size. oh, wait, that sounded bad. erm…
i realize now that i’m that annoyingly giddy girl in the office that can’t stop talking about how great her guy is. and you know what? i don’t care. i don’t care if folks get sick of how happy i am. i don’t care if you don’t want to hear how witty i was when i told him, “tag, you’re it”. i don’t care if you don’t want to hear what great eyes he has. i don’t care if you’re tired of me bragging about how emotionally stable my guy is. just because you’re guy sits on the couch, is emotionally vacant and doesn’t make you signs with macaroni and construction paper, don’t begrudge me the opportunity to tell you all about mine.
okay, so i’ve completely flipped over this guy. i’m completely head over heals. maybe i should think about joining the romanian team…

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