My back went out again. Saying that one of your most important body parts just went out, like it was quickly going to grab a coffee or check the mail is probably one of the most misleading ways to describe something so utterly disheartening.
The list of things I can't do right now is long, and includes walking upright, sleeping, bending over to shave my legs and anything Gangnam Style.
Fortunately, shaving my legs won't be necessary. Possibly ever. In the space of two days, I've become what I've always feared most - an Old Maid.
(To be fair, I've also always feared becoming shipwrecked, naked in public, burned at the stake and a political Conservative. I have many fears, but becoming an Old Maid happened to occur first. Frankly, it could have easily been a toss up between shipwrecked and naked in public given that I live on an island and give increasingly fewer fucks about what I'm wearing. Luckily, there's still time.)
My back going out again is actually the most positive aspect of this whole sordid story. Even though it's bad, it's not as bad as it was the first time. I'm able to work, sit on a toilet long enough to get things done and I haven't fallen over yet. These are all vast improvements over the last time this happened. Clearly, months of going to the gym is helping my body cope a little better.
In fact, I'm still going to the gym. My stupidly hot personal trainer devised a new program for me that we can do while we wait for my spine to unclench.
It's painful and embarrassing to be surrounded by hard bodies pumping serious iron while I bust into a sweat just trying to lift a leg up and down, but the other day my trainer lifted up his t-shirt to his chest to show me some sort of surgical scar, and I swear to God my back very nearly healed itself in that instant.
It's true. I've developed a very sad and pitiful crush on my personal trainer, which is only in keeping with my Old Maid status. He's gorgeous, and so nice to me it nearly makes me cry. Granted, I'm paying him to be nice, but it's still alarming that I would fall for a guy simply because he's kind to me. Alarming, but not surprising.
A friend of mine asked if I would pay him to sleep with me too should that option arise, and the answer is OH MY GOD. FUCK YES. As an Old Maid, I have no shame. If I have to pay for a once in a lifetime opportunity such as that, it would be money well spent - the cat hoard will just have to go without name-brand food for a while.
Likely, it would take a lot of money however. Should I ever get the impression that that's an option, expect to see a link to my PayPal account on this site. Bitches better cough up.
Deviant fantasies about my personal trainer aside, it's the reality of my current love life, or what once passed for a love life, that have pushed me over the edge from spinster-curious to full-fledged vaginal cobwebs.
Alex is a father now. I'm not sure why that's still so surprising to me, since popping out a kid is usually the expected outcome following nine months of pregnancy. It's not like I thought she was just constipated.
I found out on Facebook. I didn't think he'd step out in the middle of the eight hour labour just to text me it was happening, but I was kind of curious whether I'd hear about it directly from him at any point. So far, still waiting.
There on his profile page, was the deliriously happy couple staring lovingly into each other's eyes over top what I could only determine to be an aggressively swaddled sun-dried tomato. It was the standard post-delivery hospital shot that's a requirement of giving birth in North America.
A few things stood out. First off, she had just been through eight hours worth of labour, and I can promise you, she looked so much better in that photo than I do right this minute. In fact, every photo I've ever seen of her on Facebook is stunning. (Yes, I like to snoop on occasion. Let's not judge.)
It's to the point where numerous people comment to congratulate Alex on how jaw-droppingly beautiful his girlfriend is. I wonder what the comments would have looked like if I had ever been his girlfriend. "Wow - way to go Alex! She's really...tall."
The second thing that stood out was how happy he looked. How happy they both looked.
I studied everything in that picture. His hand on her back. Her cheek against his. He'd been there with her and for her the entire time, and it showed. What is it about her (besides being beautiful) that could make a guy want to be there with her? That makes THAT guy want to be with her? Not just through labour, but every day before and after?
Thankfully, after a day spent pointlessly moping, I was sure I had the solution to ease my pain. A few hours scheduled with the firefighter.
The firefighter. A man I once described as the vagina whisperer. The only guy who could make me forget all the things I'm missing out on, mostly because he makes me forget my own name.
Only...after two hours of having him naked in my bed...I was still fully dressed.
He didn't kiss me. He didn't touch me. I touched him plenty, but he didn't touch me. Not even by accident. Not with any part of his entire body.
Sitting next to a stranger on a bus will get you more physical contact than he engaged in with me that entire encounter. I mean...do I have pieces left behind??
Right up until he had to leave, I was waiting for something to happen. Anything. A peck on the cheek? A high-five when he was all done?
Nothing.
It's not as though I'm a stranger to selfish douche bags. In fact, the firefighter was once a revelation simply because he wasn't a selfish douche bag. However, even the most selfish of losers in the sack has never taken great pains to make sure his arm doesn't accidentally brush against mine. Which is what he did. Several times.
A few explanations as to what might be happening:
- I'm the world's dumbest and therefore poorest prostitute.
- I'm one of India's Untouchables, and he's only just become religious. And Hindu.
- Pieces left behind.
- My weight gain disgusts him. He'd rather not look at me, let alone risk making it all jiggle.
- His wife has drafted a few new rules and boundaries, and nobody's shared these with me.
- He's a piece of shit, and I'm a fucking moron.
My friends often seem to think that I don't know that I deserve any better when it comes to men and relationships. They think I settle for scraps, because I don't know they're scraps.
The truth is, I know it. I know I deserve better. I know that what I accept in my life is pretty much laughable. I don't accept it because I don't know it's pathetic.
This however, is even more (or less) than I can put up with. Now that the scraps have even run out, it's Old Maid all the way.
Old Maids don't expect very much, so if they lose what little they have, it's no big deal. Old Maids are used to being entirely on their own, and not needing anybody else for anything. Old Maids are long past giving a single fuck.
I'm actually looking forward to the conversation I'm about to have as an Old Maid with the firefighter. After all, it's not like I'm the one with anything left to lose.
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