Hating the Boss

by Kristen Granata

My mom says that’s how you know something’s wrong: You start downplaying your unhappiness and comparing it to domestic abuse.

Sometimes, I’d wished he would hit me. Just once. At least then I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about leaving him.

This book is off to a bad start.

I’d reached my breaking point. Now I know why people call it that. You bend so much that you eventually break in half. Two parts: Who you once were, and the angry, resentful person you’ve become.

In the end, I gave him the house, the dog,

She left the dog with an abusive person?! Super bad start.

I envy the people who stop eating when they’re stressed. I’m an emotional eater. I eat my feelings, and unfortunately, they aren’t fat free. They taste a lot like Ben and Jerry’s.

You don’t realize how important a person’s laugh is until you’re on a date with someone whose laugh sounds like a dying mongoose.

Resentment will do that to you. It trickles into your blood like a poison, slow at first, until it’s coursing through your veins. It overrides every other feeling you have, making it impossible to see through the blurriness of anger and disappointment.

smart. Intelligence is sexy to a man. Notice how I said to a man. If a guy’s intimidated by a woman’s brain, it means he’s insecure about his own intelligence. Also, he probably has a small pecker.

Ever wonder what a man thinks about while kissing a woman? The way his dick will feel inside her mouth.

Men don’t want to fuck a stick. They want something to grip on to. Something to squeeze. Something that bounces and jiggles. You might be embarrassed of your muffin top, but the truth is: A man doesn’t notice what’s between your tits and your pussy when you’re naked and his dick is about to be inside you.

Uninhibited. Unrestrained. She’s enjoying every second of this, like she owns me and it’s her right to take everything from me. This is how sex should be. It’s not a sprint, a race to the finish line. It’s about indulging your senses. A tasting. Exploring to find what you like, taking the time to enjoy every kiss, every touch, every movement.

“Do you have any bruising?” Kerry asks. I turn my wrist over and shake my head. “No. He didn’t squeeze me that hard.” She shrugs. “We can help you with that.” “What are you suggesting?” Mary asks. “I’m just saying, the guy’s obviously a psychopath. If Rae shows up at the admin building with bruises on her arm, Jaxon will be fired so fast it’ll make his head spin.”

WTF. This is seriously not ok.

During a faculty meeting one afternoon, Raegan “accidentally” spilled her coffee on my crotch. If you’re wondering whether it was hot or iced coffee, you must be a woman. A man would know that either temperature means equally bad news for the prized possession in my pants. Iced. It was iced.