You Can’t Get Lust without S-L-U-T

A year to the very day, it seems history is about to repeat itself. Last year, my heart fell out of my ass and shattered into a million little pieces after I met “he who shall not be named.” You may recall I referred to him as “George of the Jungle” as I tried to depict for an admissions committee (in as much detail as I could muster) our close encounter of the Grindr kind. That story got me a scholarship offer to attend law school, but (you guessed it) I digress.

Now it seems a slut has fallen in lust again — this time with someone we’ll call my “Knight in Shining Armor.”

Does it strike anyone else as odd that the word slut and lust coincide? And you spell them with the same letters too! Just reposition the ‘s’. Perhaps I’m alone here. Again… I digress.

In the past, I’ve discussed the concept that dating is an investment strategy with no guarantees, and I’ve openly admitted something about my game plan must change lest I resign myself to a life of solitude. But right now I feel like a queen (I use that term very lightly and strictly for paronomastic purposes) on chess board, trying to figure out my next move. I’m determined to remain in control, even if it means making myself vulnerable to a said “worthy opponent” at the risk of being struck down in defeat.

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