Saving myself.

Where are you from? Do you have brothers and sisters?
You’re the youngest? I guessed right. What do you like to do?

It felt like a first date. I felt uncomfortable. Who’s fault? No one.
Didn’t he see my ring? In this situation, I wanted the ring to save me. A clear indication that those questions weren’t necessary.

In the past, I didn’t wear any indication that I was in a committed relationship– as a person who was proposed to or as a person who agreed to say ‘I do’ in a private ceremony.

A about a year ago, I was in a grocery store. I always seem to find chemistry at the register. Male/Female/Whatever. The how-are-yous exchange is genuine. The how-was-your-day fill me with warmth. Those connections are what I live for. On that fateful day, felt guilty for it. Did I lead him on? Do men go through this? Because, they don’t traditionally wear proof of proposing. So, no. Probably not. It was a moment of connection. No ONE fault. But for both of us to enjoy and move on.

Do you surf? No, my husband does.

And there it is.
The shift in conversation I was desperately craving.
My opportunity to set the tone.

Not into you.

This ring can’t save me from shit. It can’t save me from awkward situations. It can’t save me from sexual assault. It can’t save me from systemic injustice.

I can only save myself. I’m my own hero.

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