Begrudgingly, I accepted a friend request from “the blind date.”

The following is an account of what I assume went down from that point on…

My Facebook status read: “Met Fran for breakfast.  She left me bloody and sore as usual.”

“The blind date” searched my list of friends to see what Fran looked like.

“The Blind Date” wondered why I didn’t mention that I got into a fight.

“The blind date wondered why I was lying…  After all, I couldn’t meet for dinner and dancing because I had to wake up early to “workout.”

“The blind date” looked through my mobile uploads…

Picture 1: A man… with no shirt on… 6 pack abs, glistening with sweat… swinging from some rings. (“The blind date” was jealous)

Picture 2:  A woman… lifting another woman over her head… neither of them are wearing shirts.  (“The blind date” was confused, but TURNED ON)

Picture 3:  Me… sweating through my shirt and shorts…doing a handstand…on one hand… on a tire… wearing socks up to my knees. (“The blind date” was TURNED OFF, but dared to look at ONE. MORE. PICTURE).

Picture 4: My neck.  To be more specific, my collar bone (after a Grace PR)… a little red, a little black, a little blue. (“The blind date,” assuming it’s a hickey stops looking at photos and defriends me.)

It was over before it began.  “The blind date” didn’t understand, didn’t ask questions and never made it to the ACTUAL blind date.

It’s ok though.

Enter, “The soul mate.”  The soul mate knows there will always be a HERO in my life, and a few Nasty Girls getting on my nerves.  The soul mate doesn’t mind the callouses on my hands, the bloody rips on my palms, or the scrapes on my shins.  “The Soul mate” gets the ice packs cold, and serves the bacon hot. “The soul mate” buys a bottle of new skin monthly, rolls of tape weekly, and cooks meat daily. “The Soul mate” accepts the fact that high socks are not only fashionable but necessary, and realizes that one day I might come home with vomit on my shoes and consider it a job well done!  “The soul mate” has wiped sweat from my face, and chalk from my eyes, and understands that D.O.M.S isn’t just our Italian landlord that I’m cursing at.  Most of all, “The soul mate” provides support, love, and protection inside and outside of my box, and will love my snatch no matter how ugly it is!