This guy knew I was a *** worker. It says so, right in my own Bumble profile: retired media ***, current actual ***.
He'd even commented about it, using the language every woman longs to listen to from a romantic interest:'Haha, nice

'. And yet I watched as his face contorted directly into an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the reality of my profession came crashing down around him like a tonne of bricks.
"That's a lot," he said, and then he rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. I didn't hear from him again.
It often surprises people to hear that *** workers do all sorts of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in real life after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we've dinner with this families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with your websites providers for what feels like hours.
It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at the job could be enough to make up for a potential not enough intimate connection within our lives beyond work; so most of us also date, with varied levels of success.
A couple of months ago, I ended a relationship with a person I had been seeing for pretty much two years. In private, he was a m***ve supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune seemed to change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he said, "This really is Kate..." the silence that hung in the area where, "...my girlfriend," should have now been weighed a tonne.
I don't genuinely believe that he personally had a trouble with me being fully a *** worker, but I actually do believe that the likelihood of others judging me – and then judging him for being with me – was enough to create him want to help keep me a secret.
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