We all have our own versions of who we think we are out in the world.

The perception that guides us along.

It's the equivalent of glancing at yourself in a store window

as you walk by, just to see if the version you're feeling on the inside

is matching the one on the outside.

You know, like a psychological fit check, if you will.

But I never really needed those.

My outside always seemed to match the story I was selling and

that story was Maya Mitchell is Maya Mitchell. That hot bitch in the room you know?

Note I did not say hottest bitch in the room.

I'm not one of those delulu narcissists who thinks everybody wants them.

Okay?

No, when it comes to the laws of attraction, I know my limit and I like to play within it.

So there was no reason in hell why I should get older, wiser, and deliciously curvier in the years since seeing Vernon,

only to be outright rejected at first sight?

I'm like, why?

Because I dumped him first?

Oh, please, grow up.

But seriously, I mean, how does one get such a strong no-thank you

from the guy whose flag is still staked at the base camp of her verse orgasm?

Doesn't that type of connective tissue count for anything?

Did so much about me change in the tenure since I broke his heart?

...