Hello. My name is Katrina Perkins.
For a while, I thought I was living the best life available. I was living with Bill Handley, my long-term boyfriend. I was a troubleshooter for a major company. And I had Chelsea Vaughn as my ride-or-die.
And then most of it came crashing down.
First, my bosses sent me to this construction company they owned. My job was to see how their fortunes could be turned around; however, it soon became clear that they didn't respect me. As far as they were concerned, I was an outside interloper, and definitely not one of the guys.
Then, my social life crumbled. I found out that Bill was cheating on me, with a girl who still had to show her ID at the bar. What was worse, he'd gotten her pregnant, which pretty much let me know where I stood in the relationship. And since it was technically his apartment, even though I had been paying half the rent, I was the one who had to move out.
Luckily, Chelsea had my back. She had a spare bedroom where I could crash, and she helped me put everything where I could find it again.
Then, to take my mind off my problems, she took me to the bar to get wasted.
As I drank whatever she put in front of me, I felt less and less like crying in my drinks, and more and more like airing my grievances against the Bill Handleys of the world. In my inebriated state, it seemed like I'd been going out with more than my fair share of jerks in my life; and I was getting fed up with the situation. And I was getting increasingly loud about how I felt, until the waitress kindly asked us to leave. I might have said something to her, but she had brought the bouncer with her to back her up; and, drunk as I was, it wasn't enough to think that I would stand a chance against him. So Chelsea apologized for the disruption, and we took our leave.
It was storming pretty heavily when we got outside. But I didn't care: To me, that was just God trying to compete with how loud I was, and I felt like letting Him know what I thought of half of His work. Lifting my face to the heavens, I proceeded to tell the storm what I thought of men in general: "I never want to fuck another man, for as long as I live!"
Fortunately, the Lyft driver we got was female, so she didn't have to deal with my anger, as I was able to sit quietly for the length of the car ride. Chelsea handled the payment and the review, and we went inside to get out of our wet things and towel off before bed.
If the nuns who taught me when I was a little girl were right, then God was listening to me when I swore off men.
And, if He was, then He sure has an interesting sense of humor.
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