The Love-Hate Relationships That Depress Me

In my younger days, I had my share of silly, tumultuous relationships … boyfriends, high school friends, the height of my hair, Jon Bon Jovi. I still have my share of love-hate relationships — pathetically, they are even more embarrassing.

– My Suburban
LOVE: It is my second home. HATE: It smells like sour milk and sweaty shin guards.
– My Clarisonic
LOVE: At my age, I need it. HATE: At my age, I need it.
– My iPhone
LOVE: What would I do without it? HATE: My kids can contact me at any time.
– My Chardonnay
LOVE: What’s not to love? HATE: I can’t drink it in my Suburban.
– My Caffeine
LOVE: It protects my children from my un-caffeinated self. HATE: They don’t make it in a mouthwash.
– My Husband
LOVE: I made a vow. HATE: He’s such a guy sometimes.
– Jon Bon Jovi
LOVE: Only love, Jon. Only love — I’ve matured!