I never write about my boyfriend. Right? But I’m going to let myself today.
This is a disclaimer, to co-workers, to head hunters, to those who generally respect me: Do skip.
Yesterday was John and I’s 2-year, 11-month-aversary. Yeah, we do those. Last night, we let our celebration dangle on hope slash faith slash pleasemercifulAphroditeplease by trying the Wicked lottery — and losing, for the 7th time. As we walked down 50th and I, for the 7th time, quietly tried to brainstorm ways to make the night not suck, John handed me two tickets to Wicked that he had bought earlier that week anyway. Just in case.
He left today, and I’m writing about him because I’m allowed to be sad.
But before he did, he hummed a few bars of this song.
It’s the song I always said dictates perfectly how I felt about him when we first started dating; Head Over Feet, by Alanis Morissette.
You know how you have those?
I present it to you now…
With vomit-inducing commentary.
I warned you, way back there, don’t say I didn’t.
I had no choice
But to hear you
You stated your case
Time and again
I thought about it
(A newly-single college sophomore, I put him through months of games. Months.
And all throughout, he never once crossed any lines, or changed his temper, or changed his message:
“I will wear you DOWN, WOMAN.”
He also never stopped being my friend. It was like, “Dating would be awesome, but meanwhile, I don’t hate you for spurning my advances because I really enjoy quoting Dumb & Dumber and biking to Wingstop with you.”)
You treat me like
I’m a princess
I’m not used to
You ask how my day was
(We were best friends first. The difference between him and any other guy I dated: We liked and respected each other just as kick-ass human companions, well before romance ever came into the picture. What’s gotten us to almost-3-years, I think, is that we’d never do or say anything to each other that you wouldn’t do or say to your best friend. Once you actually, truly, at the very-very core, like who you’re with, there’s no room for drama. No use.
And, like most girls who fall in love with love, I definitely was not used to that kind of… logic.
Almost 3 years later and I still don’t understand, nor feel like I deserve, the very logical and calculated and simple way he does make me feel like a beautiful freaking fairy princess.)
You already won me over
In spite of me
(Like I said, I fought it. I tried to subscribe to that idea that you should be single and crazy in college.
I later learned that trying out freshly-Googled pasta recipes and YouTubing how to uncork wine without a bottle opener and watching 4 hours straight of The Office together, THEN going out with single/crazy friends either as a couple or totally separately, suited me much better. Different folks, different strokes.)
And don’t be alarmed if I fall
Head over feet
And don’t be surprised if I love you
For all that you are
I couldn’t help it
It’s all your fault
(Like most things.)
So… my point.
I guess this could serve as a message of, like, hey twentysomewheres, not all dating prospects suck. Some are really great! Cause you’ve never heard that before! Right?
Or, ok, here — maybe I wrote this in the thinning hope of turning my thoughts, however mushy or mundane, into something kind of readable. Right? Like what
all most bloggers do?
Okay. Or… or I have no real excuse. Except, maybe:
Check out some of the gross stuff the internet lets you do sometimes,
when you have a blog and you love someone very, very much.