Sometimes We Love Boys We Shouldn't

I am a woman who loves a bad boy.

He only wants love on his terms, never when I am the seeker of affection.

He is a menace to society. He picks on puppies, verbally threatens even the tiniest of birds and more often than not, tries to goad everyone and everything around him into a spirited tussle.

He wrecks the house. He slices through screens as though their purpose on a door or window is to be but torn apart, rips facial tissue out of boxes like Guy Fieri and a live studio audience are egging him on, and has no qualms about drinking the last of the milk .... from YOUR glass.

And yet I adore him. He melts me. I can't help myself.

He's lived with us for just about five months now. I love watching him sleep. I love the lithe way he walks, his muscles rippling with every step, every nuance of movement a study in form. I love that he talks incessently, sometimes repeating the same thing over and over, well into ad nauseum. I love watching him play. But most of all, I love the way he stops what he's doing--regardless of what fun he may be having--to nuzzle my neck and kiss my face, eyes full of love.

Sometimes, we love boys we shouldn't ... and love every minute of it.

World, meet Amos.