Intelligent
Fun-loving
Adventurous
Single female
Looking for someone of like-minded persuasion
Who’s interested in a permanent relationship
With someone who enjoys
Fine dining
Books
And cuddling.
Extremely neat individual
Who will never grow tired of hearing you talk
If interested, call the number below
Ask for Tabby, not short for Tabitha,
To arrange an introductory meeting.
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Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaabout 18 hours ago in Poets
Comments (19)
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Oh so cool and humorous 😁😇 Thanks for sharing this~ 😉
😂😂😂That is great!!💖💕💗
He he he . Nice ad .
Haha. How sweet.
☎️ Bring bring, bring bring! “Pick up Tabby!” 😅 For some reason I have some random song playing in my head this minute that I’ve not heard for 25 years haha.. it goes, “kitty at my foot and I wanna touch it, KITTY AT MY FOOT AND I WANT TO TOUCH IT!!!” I must find this song. Also Tabs didn’t pick up. Please let Tabby know my digits are 555, 5, 555, 55, 5!! Thank you. Sick poem by the way !! 😄 🐈 Ps I really need to go to bed 😝 💤 I hope I have not left many other comments like this tonight. Have a great day.
This is an utterly charming and clever ad with a delightful twist! Tabby's "extremely neat" personality and cuddly vibes make it clear that this isn't your usual dating pitch—it's feline perfection. A witty and warm-hearted piece that brings a smile. Who wouldn’t call that number?
Orange you glad you called Tabby? Lol. Very cute. Love it.
Lovely words,creative ideas
That is just the love connection I want to be connected to, where is that number below? I definitely have to call that number!!!
Great mix of personality and interests! Fun and inviting intro! 😊 loved it
I feel you might be signing the Pina Colada song - love it... Funny and interesting - great poem
Clever take, Mother. Loved it!!!
Aww I love this!! 💓🌟
This is gorgeous✨😍
I love this! So adorable
I would love to meet Tabby hehehehe. Love your poem!
💖
Ha! Oh I love this!