We were by no means the oldest women in the club, but certainly old enough to stand out. Largely because we wore pants, and not skirts so short our vaginas could be stamped more readily for re-entry than our wrists.
What followed was the most depressing 25 minutes of my life - which is approximately how long we lasted before deciding we had had quite enough and fleeing in terror.
We were hit on, which you'd think might be flattering. First up was a really old guy with a grey beard and pit stains down to his belt loops. I could just about smell the Viagra oozing out of his pores. He asked if he could buy me a cocktail or beverage of my choice.
First of all, who in the hell says can I buy you a cocktail? Secondly, the only way I'd ever be interested in meeting this man would be if I was dating his youngest son. As all ten of my readers know, I like my men young. Once they're old enough to rent a vehicle on their own, I've pretty much lost interest.
Greybeard was just the first in a long line of very old men. There was a guy with a combover, a guy with hair in his ears and a guy with three missing teeth that I could see.
Next came a very short bald man who came to just below my nipples. I didn't realize that bald people can have dandruff, but you really do learn something new every day. Never before in my life have I been hit on by so many men, and never has it made me feel so awful.
During a break in the action, my one remaining single friend who was also fending off a few admirers, asked me if this was really all there is to choose from, and I said yes. Yes it is.
We are so fucked, she said.
Fucked indeed.
(My friend is six years younger than me, single, and Portuguese. Her parents are completely beside themselves that she's single and so far past her prime. They want grand-babies, and how will that ever happen when she is insert Portuguese expression for last can on the shelf that nobody wants here. Then her mother usually crosses herself. Her mother has also been known to seek answers and resolutions for her daughter's spinsterhood through more spiritual means. At one point she was convinced my friend was under the influence of some sort of evil eye spell, and was therefore cursed in the marriage department. If a simple blessing could clear up my friends issues, I'd hate to see what her mother feels would help me get closer to the alter at this point. It probably involves silver bullets and an exorcist.)
I offer this whole story as a roundabout justification for my currently awful behaviour, and also as a warning. The next friend of mine who tells me I should settle for personality over any sort of physical attraction, and that at this point in my life, physical attraction shouldn't matter at all, will no longer be my friend. I've seen who's out there to settle for, and the beard was grey. There was dandruff, but no hair. Not. Possible.
Naturally, I can't talk about bad behaviour without talking about Alex. Last week he told me his girlfriend, Kelli, found out he cheated on her and left him. My heart soared. They're trying to work it out though, but she is pissed.Heart sank.
Would you believe I was actually surprised by this? Actually I was surprised by a couple of things. Here, in bullet form, are a few things that surprise me still, and nobody else.
- I'm not the only girl he's kept on the side, even though he told me I was...four different times. He couldn't have been lying, because he said we're special.
- He and Kelli are living together. I'm not sure why this is so surprising, but for me it's shocking enough to make me do math. How long were they actually together before he told me? Fingers might not be enough. I may have to carry the one.
- I believed him when he told me I was the only and special. I have a career, a mortgage, a university degree, a license to drive and I generally don't need to wear a helmet in public most days and yet...I wholeheartedly believed him.
I expressed my regret that he had been caught out, and offered to leave him alone. I have a trip booked to Kelowna, but if he's trying to work things out then there's no reason for him to hear from me.
He said it's no problem, but when I text him the dates I'm coming I should address the message to both of them, and be sure to say how much I'm looking forward to meeting her. Also, I'll need to get in touch with him, because he took all of his numbers out of his phone.
Clearly, I didn't need to ask how it was he got caught. After contemplating whether just typing those words might me heart failure, it occurred to me... I may want to clarify something first.
What if he thought I might actually want to meet her? Sweet Christ in a sidecar.
I would say the complete and utter bullshit he needed me to in order to cover his ass, but just to be clear...I don't want to meet her. I want to see you, not your girlfriend.
He said he understood, but she'll be done school by then so that might be hard. Awesome. I want to believe he was referring to college/university and not high school, but either way Kelli is obviously younger than me, and probably has never contemplated whether the skin around her mouth is starting to sag, and whether she should give up a paying a mortgage in exchange for regular Botox.
For the first time ever I said something snarky to Alex. Nothing earth-shattering - but for once I had a bit of a tone. Furious. Frustrated. Fed-up - for the first time in five years. I shouldn't have to remind any of my readers that I can be a sharp-tongued bitch. And by can be, I mean I am. All of the time. Just never to him.
And he must have noticed, because the next evening he was texting me. Strange, because he had told me he deleted all of his numbers. Turns out he had, but had dug up his old phone and charger just to talk to me. He loved me. There's nobody else like me. When he's with me it's like no other girl ever. He can't even explain it. Can't even describe it. He misses me so much. Wishes he was there. Wishes I was there. He can be so open with me, not like anybody else.
Would we fool around if I came to see him? He doesn't know. But there's so many reasons why he loves me. When I got off work, could he see me? (On webcam.) Please?
The smart thing to do might have been to ignore him. Even better, to tell him to fuck off. Call him a dog, a liar, a cheater, a womanizing asshole and a redneck fucking car salesman, because he is all of those things.
The less intelligent way to go would have been to rush home to my webcam so we could see each other, and I could hear his voice when he says how much he loves me.
Guess which option I went with. Go ahead, take your time. I'll wait.
*****
*****
Well that didn't take you bitches long.
He looked so good to me that I nearly cried. It had been a long time since we'd last had one of our webcam "dates." Just long enough to convince myself that maybe I'm moving past him, but not nearly long enough for that to be true.
(As much pain as it caused me, I have to say it was quite nearly worth it when I stood up and he said, "Holy fucking shit how skinny are you??" Actually, scratch that...it was TOTALLY worth it. The last time he saw me was 55 pounds ago...heh.)
In between the schmaltz and the xxx-rated conversation that followed, I helped him figure out how to change his email password...just in case Kelli knew it and went snooping.
Maybe this alone doesn't make me a terrible person, but the fact that I can't find a single fuck to give about her and her feelings might. I'm not the keeper of their relationship. I'm not her friend, and this isn't about her.
It begs the question though - what exactly is this about? Why am I holding on so hard to a guy who can barely hold his own dick without letting it accidentally fall into some random vagina?
Why am I clinging to a relationship that never existed in the way I wanted it to?
Why am I so willing to home wreck?
Why am I insisting on dragging this out, putting myself through more pain every time I talk to him, just so I can talk to him one last time in person. Only so I can end it.
While we're on the subject - why in the hell is he holding on to me? The one girl he's never actually slept with?
That's really the only mystery in left in this story, because I know exactly why I'm doing all of these things.
I've seen the alternative.
The alternative is the old guy with the grey beard and the pit stains who'd just love to buy me a cocktail. It's not that there isn't anything else right now, it's that there isn't anything else. What is there horrifies me.
To top it off, I'm sick to death of losing friendships. I have friends who actually think I should be grateful for the alternative, and who are dumb enough to say it. As soon as I hear it, I think to myself that they must not like me very much, or think much of me at all.
I'd sooner drag out an ending with Alex then face the alternative. An ending with Alex is better than the kind of new beginnings waiting for me. Finally, I've found something that doesn't suprise me.
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