Thursday, February 9, 2012

All My Exes Live in Texas - Part Deux

Darlings, in order to continue our ground-breaking survey of the Season Of the Douche, I have unearthed some treasures from the Vault.

N.B. These posts date from the early pre-Honey era (circa 2004-2006), so while the scenarios depicted may not be fresh news, they are still relevant to our study.

Warning: this reprint contains adult situations and strong language

Once upon a time, ok, it was three years ago (Editor's Note: this is now almost a decade ago), I was drifting off to sleep in the arms of my sweetie, when he nudged me and said, "I have to get going." I figured I was dreaming because no man in his right mind would say that to me in the middle of the night...unless he had a death wish.  The time was 3:14 a.m. I felt him shift in the bed and repeat his previous statement.  I slowly turned to look at him. Let me assure you that even in the dark, the death stare is effective. "Baby, I have an early tee time." Those last three words still hanging in the air, I bolted upright, jumped out of bed, threw his clothes in his face, and calmly said,"Get the fuck out of my bed." Ok, maybe it wasn't that calmly.

Man, you should have seen the look on his face.  I don't know if it was the tone of my voice or the shock of having something thrown at him, but he was stunned. One minute ago, she was a peaceful, sleeping cherub and, a fully-armed battle-ready hellion. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Then ensued a brief shouting match...

Miss O: I said get dressed and get the fuck out of here!
Him: What's wrong with you?
Miss O: Me?! What's wrong with you? An early tee time?! Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!?!
Him: You goddamn women are all the same!

By this time, we were standing at the front door which I had flung open. I'm sure all the neighbors were enjoying the heated exchange.  He had managed to get his jeans on, the rest of his clothes were clutched in his right hand. I was wearing a lovely black lace nightie, barefoot, hair streaming.

All of a sudden, a moment of clarity came to me. I felt my fist clenching and thought, "if I swing, I can knock him down". My second thought was "I'm already dressed fabulously, let them take me away." My third thought," No jury would convict me after I testify about the 'early tee time' comment."

The cretin made his departure, unscathed, while I was still considering whether a jab or hook would be more effective. We continued to trade barbs as he made his way down the stairs. "We women are all the same? You're right. We're too fucking good for you!" I have no doubt that my neighbors were impressed with my liberal and creative use of the F-word.

Anyway, said cretin reanimated several months later in the middle of a dinner party.  Here I am having a sit-down for eighteen, when Mr. Early Tee Time strolls in like it's nothing out of the ordinary. I was baffled, but, ever the consummate hostess, politely offered him a cocktail.

Miss O: What's going on?
ETT: I need to...see...speak to...tell you...
Miss O: Let's step into my room. (shutting the door) Is everything ok?
ETT: I'm in love with you.
Miss O: !?!?!?! $%^&*!?!?!? Are you drunk?
ETT: Baby, please.

"Baby, please" is one of my favorite phrases. My other favorite is "I was a fool..."  I never get tired of hearing that one.

Long story short, Early Tee Time's reanimation was brief. When we saw each other the following week, he was already singing a different tune called "I love you, but I can't commit". Oh, sure, he tried to reanimate three more times, before finally leaving town. I really prefer that exes leave the state, if not the planet, once we part ways. So much more convenient.

And here, Darlings, it is easy for me to see, in hindsight, that I was not clear in ending the relationship. We were neighbors and therefore I was worried about seeming "bitchy" or "bitter" or "crazy" at such close proximity. So I did myself a disservice by letting Early Tee Time enter and exit my life at his whim, instead of shutting it down once and for all. Also, WAY too many times, I gave him the benefit of the doubt thinking: He'll get his act together. He said he's in love with me.

Listen, Sisters, talk is cheap.  You deserve a mate whose behavior and actions make you feel like a treasure, not a sad sack on the mark-down rack.  Repeat after me: I am a treasure.   

Don't ever let yourself be devalued.

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