“Stop Sign” Today, she was staring at the stop sign for ten minutes. I asked her, “You know they can change the font, if you hate it so much.” She came back to herself and said shrugging her shoulders roughly, “No, no! Hehe, I was just wondering if there was a stop sign for people when they’re crashing into another pit of self-destructive hole. There was a reason I was in love with her and this was not it. It was her aloofness, her spontaneity, her philosophy and her love for cats. We have eight cats at home. Five were of hers and three because I had no other idea on what to gift her for her 21st birthday. We were going to a birthday dinner hosted by one of her work friends at Ruby Tuesday. Man! How much I hate meeting people. People that I have to shake hands with and fabricate smiles with. People that still believe in Jesus. I work at NASA. Yes, so I believe in Darwin and any other explanation for my existence and that of others is futile. I’m Bourgoise and my wife is a Proletariat. That’s why we connect and the first time I made love to her, I realised science couldn’t define this. There were no specific hormones that could decide my seconds, minutes or hours of loving her. It was stationary as Newton would put it. When she was saving money and working at Macy’s, spraying slutty perfumes on people, I was being taught piano lessons, sent to Space Camp and learned French. I know everything. At work, everyone knows everything and no one can argue that. But when she tells me something, even if it is something that she newly learned from a cheap rip-off magazine that feeds off from insecure women who possibly suffer from a BDD disorder by now; I give my brain selective amnesia just so I can listen to her speak. The curve of her lip turns into an O, the way she claps her hands exuberantly and how her pupil dilates when she demands my reaction. The dinner was great. Surprised? Well, I fought with one of her co-workers again. That no-brainer thinks the moon landing was staged. I mean if you want to impress me, impress me with logic not emotions. This is what I loathe about humans. They’re selfish and inconsiderate. Every action or judgement that they instigate, they’re all based on what benefits them and them only. I bet, he hasn’t even read the Art of War. People and their misconceptions infuriate me. Alessia was really mad at me. I could see her blue veins pop out like tiny ridges on her forehead like they usually do when I make a blunder or organise her cupboard and she can’t find her favourite t-shirt. We were almost cutting each other’s words at our door step, when she swiftly fell on me as I grabbed her. She’s pregnant. She’s driving me insane. I don’t know what’s the difference between Gerber and Ella’s? Okay so, I think I’m not prepared to be a dad. I’ve no room for mistakes and imperfection. I always dreamed of instilling genes of bravery, super strength, immunity and intelligence and let my infant be a mutant. I wanted him to be on Malcolm X’s list not on the dean’s list. This isn’t right for me. Packing my bags and will sleep at work from now on. It didn’t happen. I couldn’t leave her. She was right, there should be a stop sign for our mistakes and I stopped..