Wasp's manifesto

I cannot believe that I slept with him on a first date. Well, that’s a lie. I do. But I can’t believe that it matters to me.

Like Carrie in Big’s arms, I refuse to start talking first. It’s so embarrassing. After all my growth and healing, I still play love as a game. And according to the rules, people are quite simple.

If I kiss him, it’s like giving away a fry to make him want the Happy Meal. But if I sleep with him on a first date? He will get the chicken without setting a foot in the KFC.

Do I hear myself? I think the object of my desire is an unaware simpleton following his subconscious programming. He lives without ever reading his own manual, not to mention adjusting it. He might like me, but I slept with him too soon. So now his brain orders him never to call me again.

That’s how the rules work.

How in the Asimov’s hell I’ve got here. I’ve put him on a pedestal, convinced he’s better than me. Worshipping his wisdom and uniqueness. There’s no one like him, I’m convinced. But simultaneously, I plan on getting him to love me by following the rules I claim – work on everybody!

I’d like to say I treat him like an animal I wish to tame, but even the fox was self-aware enough to tell the Little Prince her kinks.

I’m so disappointed in myself. There’s so much more work I have to do. So, let’s start now.

I promise to try to get to know people, not tame them.
I swear I won’t stop going to the therapist just because I’m doing way better than other family members.
And I will never ever, in a million years, again, have sex on a first date and feel bad about it.