Years ago, I was dating a guy who told me that very thing, what’s up there in the title. His problem: I had three drinks that night to his one fruity girlie drink (with an umbrella and a pink flamingo, at that). And he learned I had a date with another guy that next week. It wasn’t like we had gone out for more than about two or three dates. It wasn’t like we were sleeping together or we were boyfriend-and-girlfriend. Just because I let him put his tongue in my mouth, he thought I was his. I’m surprised the little bitch didn’t lift his leg and try to mark his territory.
Needless to say, that was our last date. I later learned that he got married three months after that night, almost to the day. Out the same night as his wedding vows were being uttered, there with the Boy de Jour, I toasted to narrow escapes. Whew.
Then there was the guy I was seeing exclusively and several weeks later, the first night we slept together, the condom came off. He freaked out; I was all cool and shit, like, oh shut up! I am sure it’s fine, blah blah blah but he wouldn’t stop it, he wouldn’t shut the fuck up. So then I wasn’t in the mood anymore because anyone who whines more than I do, well that’s just a turn-off.
The next morning, on my way into work, he calls me.
Whiny Baby: How are you feeling this morning?
Me: Oh, I’m good, just pissed about traffic.
Whiny Baby: Do you feel sick at all?
Me: (Pause) No. I mean, we only had two beers each. (Laughing) It takes more than that to give me a hangover.
Whiny Baby: I just thought you might have morning sickness or something.
If I remember correctly, I said, “I can’t hear you, I think we’re breaking up.” And we did.
I certainly didn’t want to date an idiot.
I had a boyfriend that I dated for several months that I met on match.com. We would go out every night of every weekend, and we really got along. Except for the times I got a little too tipsy. Then I’d break up with him. The next day, we would go on like nothing happened until one really dramatic night, I did it again and this time, it took. Two nights later, on a Saturday, I was bored and got on my computer. Logged into match.com and bam!, there he was, trolling. I called him, all indignant, and asked, “Why the hell are you back on match.com?” He countered with, “Why the hell are you?”
I hung up. He had made his point.
About 15 months, and a lot of useless dates later, I met the non-BF. I took a year or so off from relationshits. Call it timing, call it the ebb and flow of the universe, it happened exactly the way it should. We laugh now because upon meeting him, I chalked him up to “married, 2.5 kids, a nice house in the suburbs and drives a minivan.” Sometimes, he thinks it’s funny to pull into a dealership, park by the minivans and tell me we are going for a test drive.
We have the most fun together, and I realized that yesterday when I was by myself, buying new glasses. I recalled about six weeks earlier, when he took me with him to pick out new glasses, and he tried on shit that even Elton John wouldn’t wear. It was an hour of laughter and fun I just couldn’t recreate without him. That’s just it – it’s not the same when he’s not here. It’s a party when we are together, except we are the only guests and we don’t care. Being with him is like a snow day and the day the P.E. teacher calls in sick and you get to play board games in the cafeteria instead of doing sit-ups, all rolled into one.
No, we are not conventional. Neither one of us wants to remarry, especially not to each other! I think he would agree with me that it might ruin this successful existence we have created.
I give him a lot of shit in here, but he is the one I turn to when I need advice. He talks me down from the ledge on a weekly basis. The non-BF accepts and even embraces all there is that is maybe ever so slightly wrong with me.
By the way, this post was pre-approved by the non-BF. Although he doesn’t read this blog (thank GOD! I wish my mom wouldn’t!), he gets the lowdown on everything here.