I yawned my way through weeknights with a tutor or at a prep program, and I spent my Saturdays at Korean school hating life while learning how to be a better Korean. "You're not married to this so-called boyfriend of yours yet — what's the big deal? Actually, just be willing to eat everything when you're around me.
So I'm neurotic about some aspect of that, whether it's my weight or the particular paleness of my skin or my big feet or what have you. Don't cross me when I'm mad because something like the kimchi slap will happen to you.
A man that doesn’t respect your boundaries will always be trouble. My grasp of Italian is not great, but I am pretty sure he told me that the bracelet he gave me for good luck would now bring me bad luck. I can fully admit that I have a dramatic streak and I do like a little flair in a relationship, but shenanigans like this make me yearn for the kind of courtships you find in Jane Austen novels.
Because we can’t just agree that we are incompatible, right? So, a week goes by and I get a text from the charming Italian.
I normally have *very* good luck when picking a restaurant in a new city.