Just finished reading your book, and enjoyed it for its snarky goodness. I found a combination of sections interesting, as I recently separated from my husband of about 14 years, and then poured myself right into a relationship with another man––the day I moved out. Not my brightest moment, but I thankfully recognized warning signs before getting in too deep.
It all started very well. He was a gentleman, took me out to dinner, opened doors for me, and treated me really well in lots of other ways. We played music together and had a lot in common, but I wanted to take things slow because I felt rather gun-shy after a messy marriage. Mostly he respected that, until it seemed like he didn’t. One day we broke into an argument about something completely trivial, and he bombed me with a whole crap load of things he seemed to have been saving up since we’d begun seeing each other. It was as if he had kept tallies of all the little “transgressions” of my character every day in order to sock me with them during a moment of anger. He proceeded to shred my character, and, being upset, I left the room to cool off. We resolved the argument that night, only to have a couple more of similar instances resurface. When he sensed that I was ready to break it off, he told me that I couldn’t handle the truth about myself and had to go off and pout when we had a disagreement.
Several other red flags: At one point he said to me, “I prefer women with small breasts,” as he looked at my well-endowed chest. He talked about how much he enjoyed intimacy, only to regularly act uninterested whenever I wanted to be close. This guy complained about being overweight, then would sit in front of the TV all day eating. Duh. Even worse, he recently had heart surgery and complained about how his legs hurt from the lack of circulation, but couldn’t be bothered to walk for a few minutes every day, according to the doctor’s instructions, to make it better. “It hurts,” he would say. One of the final straws was his constant complaint of how “so many women hurt him,” (ie: he was cheated on by a couple of ladies, as though he was the first to ever experience that) so he was anxious about getting close. Hmm. I’ve had men hurting me my whole life, and still find it possible to be loving and generous with myself. Needless to say, I gave him the boot. Whew. Catastrophe avoided, and I am happily single.
I had a guy friend that would remove his shirt every time he got into an argument, whether it be with a random person at a bar, his girlfriend or the mailman. Funniest part was that he didn’t even have a good body that could serve as any sort of real threat.
This guy I was dating didn’t bathe because he had a problem with his furnace that messed up his hot water. At first he was clean but, as he got more comfortable, he showered less. I’ve taken cold baths many times. Yes, no one likes them, but I’d rather deal with a little discomfort than smell nasty all the time.
He also refused to turn his heat past 62 degrees, so his house was freezing. I told him that my clothes wouldn’t come off if I was cold, so he eventually turned the heat up. This made things slightly better until one night I got a whiff of his rear during sex. It was so foul that there was no way he didn’t notice it. He swore he’d shower when I was coming over but at this point I was so turned off that I ended it. NEXT…
After a few months of dating, I asked my girlfriend what had prompted her to get her breasts augmented. She answered, “My dad.” Trying to compose myself, I asked, “Did he specifically ask you to get them done?” She said no, “but I could tell by the magazines he had around the house he wanted me to be a sweater girl.”
My ex-boyfriend treated his eczema like it was a life-threatening disease. Go buy some lotion or go to the dermatologist if need be, but men, please don’t act like a little rash is an emergency. Did you forget that we bleed from the vagina every month? Sack up or shut up.
My freshman year of college, I met a girl at a party. We clicked and went back to my dorm room. The lights were out and she was incredibly wet while I was going down on her, which I thought was because she was really turned-on . I soon discovered that it was because she was on her period and neglected to tell me before I put my face between her legs. Needless to say, I didn’t call her back.
I had a small crush on a guy in my Spanish class. He was super cute and very sweet. We flirted pretty often, but only in a PG way. I was excited when I ran into him out one night. He was a tad drunk but I found it endearing. The flirting progressed and I ended up sitting on his lap. All was great until he asked me if I could feel his genital piercing. Caught off guard, I was completely speechless. I didn’t feel anything, but just knowing it was there totally creeped me out. He cut the silence with a follow-up statement: “The piercing hole is big enough to fit a cigarette through.” Was this supposed to be a turn on? I was horrified. I pounded my beer in order to create an excuse to get up, then hightailed it out of the bar. Anyone who sticks cigarettes through his shaft, gets the shaft in my book. As if the situation itself wasn’t bad enough, I had to see ring boy in class three times a week for the rest of the semester. And this wasn’t one of those big lecture classes–there were only six people, counting the two of us.