Amber 1-844-332-2639 ext 404
“Amber,” Kevin had whispered. His hands trembled as he knelt on my bistro rug. “I’ll do anything you want. I’ll quit my job, I’ll learn to braid your hair, I’ll even stop complaining about the thermostat.” I simply stared at him, with a deep, existential exhaustion. Kevin was a lovely guy. He was a “picker-upper” of dropped grocery bags and a “text-you-back-in-thirty-seconds” kind of soul. But he was also essentially the guy who looked to me for validation every time he successfully navigated a social interaction.
My dating life had become a parade of men who treated me like a fragile porcelain doll placed on a mantle. They were terrified of upsetting me, terrified of taking the lead, and frankly, terrified of the very thing that made a woman’s pulse actually race. Last week, a beta named Marcus had tried to “ask for consent” to hold my hand while we were mid-kiss. My response was to ask if he wanted me to fill out a consent form. He left, feeling insulted. lol
