Maturi-Tea (ma·tu·ri·ty)

In my late teens and early twenties, I remember breaking up with Bugga-boo every five minutes and twenty seconds. Argh! Looking back, that was so silly and super annoying. Why was I like that? 

I suppose it had much to do with emotional immaturity. Me, falling face forward into the status quo of "Reasons why women don't be makin' no sense!" First, I succumbed to a highly contagious disease that many women suffer from, known as the tomfoolery disorder. The most common symptoms are the words fine, nothing and whatever. When it wasn't that, then I caught a bout of good ole-fashioned catty-iitis―where symptoms resulted in slamming down phones and flinging doors shut. As if that wasn't bad enough, I, too, caught the sourpuss bug, which resulted in the incessant need to keep bringing up the past. I mean, rehashing "once upon a time's" more furious than a volcano erupting. (Talk about hell hath no fury...) All of it culminating into an era of what I refer to as the rise of the "Petty Crockers."  These days, we don't bother to go through all that; we use the handy dandy block and delete.