I admit it. Before I married my husband, a.k.a. "the hubs," I notoriously fell for wildly inappropriate men based on wildly inappropriate reasons ... which explains why I pendulum dated throughout my late teens, 20s and into my early 30s, vacillating from one extreme to the next. From the *sshole bodybuilder to the nerdy Star Wars fanatic to the pothead with money problems to the boy toy with the cool car to the kinky magician who couldn't commit to ... you get the picture.
Yes, we choose who we give our hearts to, but here's the thing: I wasn't choosing with my head. I wasn't even choosing with my heart. I was choosing with my vagina.
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My ex was tall, lanky, sexy and funny. One of those life-of-the-party types I'd always wanted to date in college but never did. Never mind that I was 30 and ready to settle down while he was 25 and acting like a frat rat. The sex was great. But outside the bedroom? Train wreck city.
We dated and broke up so many times I lost count. Again, he wasn't the first guy I'd jumped into a relationship with who was wildly inappropriate. He also wasn't the first man I'd decided to commit to with the wrong body part. My vajayjay was notorious for picking men who rocked my world but rendered my world rocky.
If you're letting your vagina lead you into relationships, 99 percent of the time you will be disappointed. After the hot and heavy sex haze wears off, you'll wake up, put on your clothes and realize you let your nether regions make an important decision it was never equipped to make. Same goes for your heart.
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Your heart leads you to rescue abandoned puppies. It also makes you eat cookies when you're feeling emotional. It also tells you that the lovable loser giving you those puppy dog eyes will make a great husband. Game over. Keep reading ...
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