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I just didn’t want to be on the receiving end of a rejection. My impulse, during my dating years and all the married ones, was to care for other people, including our three kids.
Even when I’ve done that, though, I still can’t stop checking email like an obsessed idiot, as if the concreteness of my assets requires someone else to confirm them.
I’d started dating at 16 and had experienced nothing but messed-up, far-too-dependent-on-each-other pairings from that first time out the gate until the day I married at 24.
I had been that girl—you know, the one who thought she needed a man.
Rule #3: The next time I’m tempted to go too far, I’ll try texting myself a photo of my glorious chicken soup.
It may not help with fighting sickness or bolstering self-esteem, but honestly, it can’t hurt.
Some women flirt by sending pictures of themselves in scanty little underthings to the man they’re hoping to attract. “Sexting” is most prevalent though, the media tells us, among teen girls. Only, instead of texting racy photos of myself, apparently, I send pictures of homemade soup.