You are terrible.
No really. You are the worst.
You take perfectly normal women (okay, in my case, a semi-normal woman) and turn them into the equivalent of Disney princesses screech-singing, “Someday my prince will come,” as they run around forests like lunatics.
In their heads, of course. Not in real life. That’d be a different type of crazy.
It’s you who takes our minds from the, “Hey, he’s cute” phase to the “Could I marry him/Let him father my child(ren)” phase at a break-the-sound-barrier speed that leaves even the most sane woman reeling and wondering, “Dear God (in prayer, girl brain will bring you to your knees) how did I get here?!?!” And if you’re less holy, like me, there may be some “$!@#$%^&!” thrown in there.
But there is hope, even for the speediest and Disney-iest of girl brains: It’s called self-control. Through the power of the Holy Spirit. I haven’t learned it yet fully. But I hear good things. I swear.
Anyways, what WAS wrong with those Disney princesses? Anybody who does that in real life should be considered straightjacket crazy.
Oh wait. They were 15. I get it now.