Have you seen that predictive text epitaph meme? If you haven't, here it is.
Well, being the lover of predictive text that I am, a few days ago when a friend of mine posted it, I was like, Ooh! That looks fun! and although I didn't post the results, I did figure my epitaph out.
Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him.
Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him.
Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him[!]
All I have to say is, does my phone really know me that well?
I know this is supposed to be funny and stuff, but that epitaph really does sum up my entire life.
Take tonight, for example.
In the long tradition of my baking things for boys that I like/covet/love, I just finished baking not one, but two desserts for La Dispute Guy who I'm going to see tomorrow for the first time in almost a month (it's a crazily long time, I know, but he lives over a hundred miles away, don't forget, and the last time he was in town, I was in North Dakota), two because I want him to try something with pumpkin, which he says he doesn't like, because I feel like he just hasn't had the right pumpkin thing, but just in case he really doesn't like pumpkin dessert, I made him another one, and, oh my god, could I be any more into this guy who wants to be casual and I never even see? I'm obviously insane.
And off topic. Let me go back.
You know what? Let's forget the epitaph for a minute and go back to that long tradition. Let's take a quick look at my past.
When I was 24 and married for a year, I made my ex-Glenn those chocolate-mousse filled chocolate bags that led to my being in hysterics and my mom and Erin eating mousse out of the garbage can. I also used to want to make him his favorite food, chicken parmesan, on special occasions, but he refused to let me cook it--because apparently I made it too wet. Fucking weirdo eats cereal without milk and doesn't like sauce. I promise the problem wasn't my cooking--and until about ten years into our marriage when he blindsided me with the admission that he hated the way I made eggs, I happily used to make him those. (You know, there was so much wrong with my marriage that I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure his not wanting me to cook anything for him ever contributed in some way to its demise).
I've baked for C twice, cookies from scratch nearly ten years ago when he got some really bad news and vegan brownies during The Summer of C when he complained that because he was lactose intolerant, he'd pretty much given up on dessert. I also once made my specialty, spaghetti and meatballs, for him and his friends (I've done this for stupid Louie who never wrote me back as well).
I even made brownies for one of Griffin's guitarists, who I used to really, really want.
Baking and cooking, of course, aren't the only way I've been nice to boys, and no, I'm not talking about that (I told you about that time I took that cute boy to buy heroin because I couldn't say no to him. Think things like that). I've just always had a horrible weakness for boys my entire life, and when I'm really into one, there's pretty much nothing I won't do, which sort of makes sense, but even if I'm not really into one, even if I just think a boy is cute, I do things for him too, I just can't say no even when I know I should and that, readers, is why I can't stop thinking about that predictive text.
Do I think that predictive textitaph was sort of supernatural and really had insight? Of course not. Okay, probably not. I mean, it's not very likely. But I do feel like, whether it's been my being nice to a boy, my coveting a boy, my talking about a boy, or my thinking about a boy, boys have been my entire life.
I remember when I was 23 telling Erin I wanted to write a memoir called Rocks in My Shoe with each chapter being about a different boy and her telling me that as a feminist she had a problem with my telling my life through the lens of my relationships with boys.
As a feminist, I know she's right.
I just like cute boys too much to care.
Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him.
Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him.
Here lies Kelly McIntyre. She was really nice to him[!]
All I have to say is, does my phone really know me that well?
I know this is supposed to be funny and stuff, but that epitaph really does sum up my entire life.
Take tonight, for example.
In the long tradition of my baking things for boys that I like/covet/love, I just finished baking not one, but two desserts for La Dispute Guy who I'm going to see tomorrow for the first time in almost a month (it's a crazily long time, I know, but he lives over a hundred miles away, don't forget, and the last time he was in town, I was in North Dakota), two because I want him to try something with pumpkin, which he says he doesn't like, because I feel like he just hasn't had the right pumpkin thing, but just in case he really doesn't like pumpkin dessert, I made him another one, and, oh my god, could I be any more into this guy who wants to be casual and I never even see? I'm obviously insane.
And off topic. Let me go back.
You know what? Let's forget the epitaph for a minute and go back to that long tradition. Let's take a quick look at my past.
When I was 24 and married for a year, I made my ex-Glenn those chocolate-mousse filled chocolate bags that led to my being in hysterics and my mom and Erin eating mousse out of the garbage can. I also used to want to make him his favorite food, chicken parmesan, on special occasions, but he refused to let me cook it--because apparently I made it too wet. Fucking weirdo eats cereal without milk and doesn't like sauce. I promise the problem wasn't my cooking--and until about ten years into our marriage when he blindsided me with the admission that he hated the way I made eggs, I happily used to make him those. (You know, there was so much wrong with my marriage that I can't say for sure, but I'm pretty sure his not wanting me to cook anything for him ever contributed in some way to its demise).
I've baked for C twice, cookies from scratch nearly ten years ago when he got some really bad news and vegan brownies during The Summer of C when he complained that because he was lactose intolerant, he'd pretty much given up on dessert. I also once made my specialty, spaghetti and meatballs, for him and his friends (I've done this for stupid Louie who never wrote me back as well).
I even made brownies for one of Griffin's guitarists, who I used to really, really want.
Baking and cooking, of course, aren't the only way I've been nice to boys, and no, I'm not talking about that (I told you about that time I took that cute boy to buy heroin because I couldn't say no to him. Think things like that). I've just always had a horrible weakness for boys my entire life, and when I'm really into one, there's pretty much nothing I won't do, which sort of makes sense, but even if I'm not really into one, even if I just think a boy is cute, I do things for him too, I just can't say no even when I know I should and that, readers, is why I can't stop thinking about that predictive text.
Do I think that predictive textitaph was sort of supernatural and really had insight? Of course not. Okay, probably not. I mean, it's not very likely. But I do feel like, whether it's been my being nice to a boy, my coveting a boy, my talking about a boy, or my thinking about a boy, boys have been my entire life.
I remember when I was 23 telling Erin I wanted to write a memoir called Rocks in My Shoe with each chapter being about a different boy and her telling me that as a feminist she had a problem with my telling my life through the lens of my relationships with boys.
As a feminist, I know she's right.
I just like cute boys too much to care.
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