Love will f*** you up!

According to my daily horoscope, my life is about to get all f****d up. You’re about to meet someone who may be the love of your life, and your work will suffer for it unless you find a way to make them both work. Holy crap! And here I thought 2013 was going to be a smooth ride.

But that was yesterday. Today is a whole new ballgame…er, story. My bestie Sharra (who also happens to be an Aries) showed up on my doorstep this morning toting drinks from Starbucks, a mocha for herself and a pumpkin soy latte for me. Goody! A visit from a gal pal and my fav morning beverage…the weekend was already off to a great start.

Only Sharra didn’t look nearly as enthusiastic as I did. She moved past me, pushed her way through a wall of labrador Retriever, and claimed a relatively yellow dog hair-free cushion on my sofa. (FYI, Sharra is currently only wearing black, as twenty pounds of holiday meals have taken up residence on her hips and thighs.)

“I did something I swore I’d never do again,” she said.

“You spent $500 on a pair of shoes you’ll only wear once?” I asked.

Sharra met my gaze. “I’m being serious here.”

So was I. “Talk to me,” I said.

“I told Perry that I love him.”

Oh. “And that’s bad because?” I mean she’d only been telling me she was falling in love with the guy for the entire month of December.

“We were in the midst of making love,” she clarified.

Her distress still wasn’t clear. “And?”

Sharra splayed her hands like I was the only idiot girl in town who didn’t know exactly why a woman should never admit to a man that she loves him while doing the deed. “Hello. Telling a man you love him while the two of you are in the throes of passion isn’t real. It’s hormones.” She sighed. “And now what do I do? Take it back, or do I just pretend it never happened?”

I chewed on that for a minute. “He was naked, right?” I was about to remind her about my rule that a woman should never say I love you to a fully dressed man.

Sharra rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you been listening? We were in bed, making love.”

Ah. Silly me. I took a long pull on my latte and thought about another rule of mine. Never answer the door unless whoever is knocking has made an appointment.

“Look,” I said at last. “He didn’t leap out of bed, get dressed, and skedaddle, did he?”

“No. In fact,”—and at this point, a tear rolled down Sharra’s cheek—”he told me he loved me, too.”

Ha! Me thinks it’s Sharra’s life that’s about to be f****d up! But no way am I about to tell her that.

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