Shit! Shit! Shit!

I know I said I would STAY AWAY from policemen.

My ex-husband was a police officer, after all, and look how that turned out.

It’s not that I dislike policemen.

Not at all.

I admire the work that they do – keeping the peace and maintaining law in society.

Every day, they see people having the WORST day of their lives, which can’t be easy.

You couldn’t pay me enough money to do what they do.

Thank you, I’ll keep on planning events and balancing the budget.

Which is why I’m shocked that I like Chad.

Chad is a DOUBLE WHAMMY.

He’s a cop and was in the military.

The Air Force to be exact.

Actually, he was a policeman in the Air Force.

I find this combination of careers oddly fascinating.

Lord knows I have loved me some military men in the past (you know who you are).

And I do know some very upstanding police officers (Hi Jon).

But usually, I hear the word “police” and I run the other way.

This time around, none of my warning bells were going off.

Chad sent me a picture of himself, which looked oddly familiar.

A man, dressed in blue, with a navy ball cap on. . .

Looks like an academy photo, smells like an academy photo, MUST BE AN ACADEMY PHOTO.

I freaked out (a little) and said, “You’re not a cop.”

He replied with the EYES WIDE OPEN emoticon.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Rude Boy

So there we are.

In the parking lot of The Jack Rose.

We met for drinks and spent about an hour chatting.

We walked to my car and he kissed me goodnight.

It wasn’t bad. Not fabulous, but it also didn’t suck.

I turned around to get in my car and that’s when it happened.

He punched me in my ass.

“What was that for?” I asked, a little freaked out.

“Smack dat ass,” he replied, telling me nothing except that he was a Rude Boy.

I barely know him.

He is not INVITED to smack my ass, let alone punch it.

I was offended.

I have a feeling he wanted to SLAP it but then felt awkward about it but didn’t manage to stop himself in time.

Hence, THE PUNCH.

I’m telling you this because ONCE AGAIN, I found myself in a situation where I am forced to remain composed when inside I’m raging.

You don’t touch me with WITHOUT my permission.

One drink, an hour of conversation, and one passably decent kiss DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO SMACK ME.

Just to cap things off, I went home and climbed in bed.

He sent me a text:

“Take off you pants right now”

It’s gonna be a cold day in hell before I take my pants off for you.

Ironically, he’s a policeman in the Air Force, so he should know all about crossing the boundary between acceptable behavior and sexual battery.

Rude Boy.