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

'. And yet I watched as his face contorted in to an expression of disgust, his upper lip curling as the truth of my profession came crashing down around him like a tonne of bricks.
"That is clearly 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 know that *** workers do a number of normal people activities, like working other jobs, studying, taking the bins out. We exist in actuality after our shifts end and the red light is flicked off; we have dinner with this families and shop at K-Mart and wait on hold with your websites providers for what feels as though hours.
It's not common that the physical and emotional experiences we've at work would be enough to replace a potential not enough intimate connection inside our lives outside of work; so most of us also date, with varied levels of success.
A couple of months ago, I ended a connection with a person I had been seeing for almost two years. In private, he was an enormous supporter of me working, but around his colleagues and friends his tune did actually change. He would introduce me, but hesitate in describing our relationship; when he explained, "This is Kate..." the silence that hung in the space where, "...my girlfriend," should have been weighed a tonne.
I don't believe he personally had a problem with me being fully a *** worker, but I actually do genuinely believe that the possibility of others judging me – and then judging him to be with me – was enough to make him want to help keep me a secret.
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