Pillow Talk, Lunacy and the Elephant in the Room

I guess now is the time to admit that even though I made it to the third date before giving it up to Brown, our third date was only a week after our first.

Absolutely no shame, no apologies and no regrets.

As much as I wanted that man, and as much as he wanted me, three dates was a HUGE accomplishment.

But that's not to say that both of us didn't continue to wave red flags right underneath each other's noses.

It took Brown only three dates to discover that I was both promiscuous and emotionally needy. In the aftermath of our first night of passion – heart open, legs open, everything open – I proceeded to open my mouth, too. I spilled the beans about my recent casting-couch ordeal.

Major red flag for him.

But I was madly in love and didn't want there to be any secrets between us.

A few days later, he reciprocated by telling me something I didn't want to hear: A few days after the Vegas trip where we first met, he'd had a vasectomy.

I cried hysterically. Into the phone. Into the ears of the man I'd been dating for less than two weeks.

I told him how much I loved kids, how much I wanted to be a mother, how hurt I'd be if I were barren by default.

Another major red flag for him. It was lunacy – lunacy was one of Brown's favorite words – for a girl he'd just met to be crying like she'd just had a miscarriage because he didn't want to have any more children.

Too bad he didn't understand where the real lunacy lay. The lunacy wasn't that I was devastated, the lunacy was that I believed I could change his mind. I called my abusive psychic, who told me that vasectomies were reversible. I instantly felt better, and decided not to break up with him.

I didn't understand until years later, and I do mean years, that no man would willingly let a doctor snip away at the family jewels unless he really, truly, absolutely, positively, irreversibly did not want to have kids.

So Brown now had a pocketful of red flags, as did I.

But the truth was, Brown was just as smitten with me as I was with him.

Less than two weeks after we met, he was referring to me as "his girl," leaving daily messages on my machine that always began, "Hello, gorgeous," and even peppering our conversations with references to us eloping. He didn't want to end it any more than I did.

But for the rest of our relationship, the vasectomy would be the elephant in the room that we both tried in vain to tiptoe around.

(Brown Diaries Part 4 of 18: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 | Lessons Learned 1-3: 1 2 3)

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