7 things I was wrong about

oral and arseholes and my new apartment

I’m late to your inbox this week because moving felt like a ~literal~ cave-like portal. For a few days, I left the real world for a transitory, enlightening, and sometimes troubling limbo world. Plus, I spent an afternoon with my kid in the ER for a head injury. And another cleaning up vomit while tending to my baby’s stomach bug. It’s been a week! Everyone is ok, though. Very much so. I hope you’re well xox.

Maayan Sophia Weisstub

The first time I was asked to have my vulva kissed, I said, “Oh my gosh! Are you serious? That is so disgusting.” I was wrong about that.

I was also wrong about kissing other parts between my legs. The best oral includes my husband eating my arsehole, but I used to be too squeamish. That fear of dirtiness was evidence that I was living too much in my mind, but it’s so much hotter to live in your dirty body.

I was wrong about Disney adults. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve the side eyes. We all deserve to consume a well-crafted happy ending.

I once told an ex that “I only do things for two years.” The self-deprecation was accurate, historically, but I was wrong. I mightn’t have been good at commitment before, but I welcomed longevity when it felt right.

Which might be why I didn’t want to move, as I shared last week. But I was wrong about our new apartment. It was the right call. My husband, Joe, was right.

I was wrong about the longer walk to my kids’ school being a problem. Now, a walk through my neighborhood with my family is an obligatory part of my routine, instead of a bonus to fit in.

I was wrong about this apartment’s bathroom being shit. Prioritizing a too-big bathtub at the expense of floor space proves the renovators had better priorities than I. Hopefully, living in this space will teach me to inhabit that excessive self-indulgence in more ways than bathing, which, I can already say, inspires hot sex (with lots of parts kissing).

I am not sorry for being wrong. I find my abject failures comforting. Like how I feel now in this new, beautiful apartment, which I tried to fight against. Some of the best experiences ahead of me, I’m not yet capable of noticing. And, without the help of my lovers, I may never be.

Or as my husband and kids said last night over dinner, “Sometimes everyone is a wally.”

What have you been delightfully wrong about?

P.S. this post is a happy anniversary wish to my friends, Madeline Howard and Sophy Drouin’s, reading series, Late to the Party! Joe and I celebrated with a packed KGB Bar last week, right before we moved. Click on their Instagram to see a disposable camera photo of us with red eyes.

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I’ll see you in your inbox again on Thursday for a Praxxxis post — upgrade to read the whole thing.