I cried over an email about potatoes.

For the last three days, I've avoided my laptop.

In my last blog post, I promised that I would write about potatoes and Chris LeDoux. I'm not one to break a promise, so this blog post is me keeping my word.

This is going to be a hard one to write. Yes, it's about potatoes, but oftentimes in life, there's more to it than that.

This happened a while back. When I think about it, I cry.

I've cried every day for three days thinking about this.

We were talking at work today about being vulnerable. I am not a vulnerable person, and I put up so many walls that are made of concrete, that it's ridiculous.

But if people around me can be vulnerable, and if they can talk about hurt and pain, then maybe I can, too.

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I've been in relationships. I've spent holidays with men, both with my family and their family. I've gotten to know their families, their friends, their hopes for the future, and their pasts. 

A few years ago, I thought I had found the one. I was pretty sure that he was ring shopping and that he was going to get down on one knee.

He didn't. 

At the time this story happened, I didn't know that. I wish I knew then what I know now, but life is cruel and doesn't work like that.

All I knew then was that there a beautiful man that I was very much in love with beside me. I was so happy that it hurt. 

Let’s start at the beginning.

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A few years ago, I met a guy. Our second date was a concert, and we went to the bar afterward. We had a corner table on the patio, underneath the stars on a beautiful night, and as he started to drink, his personality started coming out more.

He was nervous at the concert. But at the bar afterward, I fell absolutely head over heals in love with him. Full disclosure here: I fall hard, and I fall fast. I wear my heart on my sleeve. 

I fell for that man that night, in an instant. In a heartbeat. 

We shut the bar down that night, and from then on, I was absolutely hooked on him. He became a drug that I couldn't get enough of. 

That concert date happened over the summer. There was another concert date in one of my favorite cities. There were more bars, more dates, more alcohol, there was listening to music and late night conversations that I'll never forget.

He didn’t stick around.

But before he left, this story happened. And it's honestly what pisses me off most about this relationship.

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The holidays were approaching, and we (which pretty much means I) decided to spend Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with my family.

My favorite day of the year is Christmas Eve. I love that day with all my heart, and every time I date a guy around Christmastime, I get really excited that I get to share that day with someone.

I do the same thing on Christmas Eve every year. I go to church with my parents, drive around and look at the luminaries in town, and then I go home and make potatoes for my family's Christmas gathering the next day.

I don't mean to brag, but I can make a pretty mean potato dish. Whether it be scalloped or mashed, my family always looks forward to my potatoes. And there's never any left for me to take home, because that dish is always finished on Christmas day.

Potatoes are my thing.

That particular year, after church, my then-boyfriend and I went back to my house. I went into my kitchen, pulled out my potatoes, and started getting them ready.

My then-boyfriend came into the kitchen and asked me what I was doing. I told him about my potato tradition, and then he asked me if I was going to peel my potatoes.

Guys, I am the laziest person alive. I love potatoes, but I do not have the patience to stand there and peel every single one. I don't care if my family makes fun of me for my "dirty" potatoes that have the skins on them. 

I am way too lazy to peel five to seven pounds of potatoes.

My then-boyfriend asked me if I had a potato peeler. I said yes, opened the drawer to show him, and then he took it out of the drawer.

That man, that beautiful man, stood in my kitchen that night, and he peeled every single potato I had. 

I always buy a five-pound bag, plus a few more, just in case some are bad, or in case I mess something up and need more at the last minute.

I remember it took him a long time to peel them. We put them in the sink with water afterward, and I remember that he took the time to show me each potato to prove to me that there were no skins on them.

That man peeled my potatoes perfectly that night. 

Which, as I think about it, is a really, really intimate thing to do with a girl. No man I've dated had ever shown me that much intimacy as he did that night.

Yes, I'm literally talking about potatoes here. 

We stood in my kitchen for an hour, maybe more, listening to music, laughing, drinking and talking.

He told me that he liked peeling my potatoes, that he liked being with me in that moment, and that he liked doing things like this with me.

I thought he had a ring in his pocket that night.

Our relationship was over three days after Christmas. 

To this day, I can't get over the fact that he stood in my kitchen, peeled my potatoes for an hour, drank wine with me, and then decided he didn't want me.

If the story he sold me was true, his ex-girlfriend came back to Kansas for Christmas. I couldn't compete with her, and it was over, just like that.

Until that night, no one had ever peeled my potatoes for me. No one has since that night. 

He peeled my potatoes, and then he decided to go peel someone else's potatoes. I can't even describe how painful that is to me, still, to this day.

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I got an email the other day from the U.S. Potato Board, which isn't that shocking, as I worked in agriculture for almost 10 years. When I got that email, I cried.

I cried over an email about potatoes.

Maybe one day I'll write a story about man who peels potatoes better than he did that night. As of right now, this is where the story ends.

If you have someone in your life who shows you that level of intimacy, please, for my sake, be grateful for it. Don’t take it for granted.