It’s been awhile, I know. Thing is, I’ve started seeing someone, and I’ve been a little distracted from blog writing.* I guess I’m writing now for the reasons I always do—the need to rant, or explore some thoughts, or to try and articulate an observation. Most of you know that it has been awhile since I’ve been in an actual relationship. Like, I get my leg over on occasion, but an exclusive boyfriend hasn’t happened for a few years. So I guess I’m writing this because while these observations and frustrations are familiar to women who regularly engage in relationships, it is all a little strange to me. Anyway, here it goes.
- He has. So. Many. Shoes. He probably has upwards of twenty pairs of shoes. He has brown dress shoes and blue dress shoes and black dress shoes and running sneakers and casual sneakers and hiking boots and flip-flops for the gym and flip-flops for home and hiking sandals (what the fuck are hiking sandals?)…. I mean, it is insane. And you know, he’s explained that as a man in his thirties who has lived a varied and full life, he has actually needed all of these shoes, and continues to need all of them pretty regularly. Apparently, he can’t wear brown shoes with a black suit or black shoes with a blue suit, and I’m like, okay, why not just buy one color of suit? And he was like, okay, but he still needs the other shoes because he can’t wear flip flops to a wedding and he can’t wear running shoes to the beach, and he kept going on and on until I was like, whatever, do your thing. I could tell he felt a little hurt, though, so while he was at work, I went and got one of those shoe racks from IKEA and put it together and when he got home he started crying and telling me how much he loved me, and I was like, look, I love all parts of you, even the ridiculous ones, you adorable boy.
- Okay, when we first got together, I did not mind listening to him bitch about his job, but it’s getting old. I mean, I get it. He gets paid twenty percent less for doing the exact same job as four other guys in the office. He actually does better work, but those guys and the boss were in the same frat, and they play golf together on the weekends, so it doesn’t matter what work he does, he keeps getting passed over for raises and promotions. I mean, that sucks, it really does, but like, grow some ovaries and say something or shut up about it. At least to me. I can only say, “That sucks, I’m so sorry, do you want me to rub your dick?” so many times.
- He takes so long in the bathroom. I have no idea what he does in there. I mean, he does look good. Like, I really like when we’re out in public and other women give him the once over. I’m like, yeah, I get to hit that anytime I want it. But seriously, there is no way he is spending the entire time brushing his hair. He’s just dawdling. He has a real problem with focus, I think. In fact, the other day I totally proved that all that time was not necessary. I got home and told him we had, like, ten minutes to get to where we needed to go, and so he just threw on a ball cap and we left. And he looked fine. Of course, when I asked if he was okay later that night, he snapped and said he didn’t want to talk about it. You know that tone men get between playoff seasons? I forgot about that in my boyfriend-less years. It’s like you just can’t say or do anything right. I’ve learned to just make sure the house is stocked with beer and martial arts movies and get out of the way.
- His friends. Oh my God I hate his friends. I did not sign up to date his friends. I don’t understand why I have to spend so much goddamned time around his stupid friends. He claims I have to get along with them because of something about a person’s support systems working together, or some other Men’s Health Magazine bullshit. All I know is that I not only have to hang out with these assholes, I have to pretend to like hanging out with these assholes. I have to listen to them go on and on and on about shit I do not care about at all. And I have to compliment them, but not so much that they think I’m hitting on them. (I mean, there is this one friend who I will totally bang if it doesn’t work out between my boyfriend and I, or if they’re ever drunk and I can convince them to do a three way.) All I want to do after a long day at work is get home, eat dinner, have sex, watch an episode of Miranda, and go to sleep. Instead I have to nod and make little sympathy noises while Robbie talks about how he wishes he was closer to his dad, and Brent gripes about how he isn’t sure he wants to have kids…I mean my God, the endless prattle. But I have a plan. First, I’m going to start talking about how I want more one-on-one time with him. This will make him feel like it’s his choice to stop hanging out with his friends so often. Then I’ll maybe drop hints that I think one of his friends (the hot one, obviously) has a crush on me, and that I don’t feel comfortable hanging around if he’s there. This means I get to dip out of the few remaining friend times, and those friend times will be all strained and weird because my boyfriend will be upset with his hot friend, but he won’t say anything because he will also think it is his fault for being insecure. Eventually, I will have isolated him from his friends almost completely. They’ll start “catching-up” once a month. Then their time be whittled down to the super bowl and bachelor parties, neither of which I am expected to attend. Extra bonus: Once he’s almost entirely reliant on me for human companionship, if he ever thinks of leaving me, he will be so gripped by the fear of being alone that he will stay. Double win for me.
- Oh, and speaking of bachelor parties, the man has started hinting about marriage. We’re only a few months into this thing and there it is. I mean, he hasn’t said anything directly, but two of his friends just proposed in these big, elaborate ways that they filmed and then got a thousand million likes on Facebook, and he keeps making me watch the videos while staring at my face. I’m like, yeah, okay, I get it. Look, I’m not saying I’ll never settle down, but it just seems like marriage is an outdated system, ya know? It made sense when women couldn’t hold jobs or get credit cards or own a car, but now that I can exist financially independent of a man, why would I bother getting married? It’s just not natural. Sure, men benefit. They get someone to feed them, and wash-up after them, and take care of them when they’re sick. What do women get? It’s old-fashioned, I think. Of course, I’m not going to tell him this. The fact that our future relationship goals differ isn’t my problem. And it’s not like he’s straight-up asked me. If he did, I’d tell him. But if he’s just going to show me proposal videos, then I’m just going to keep smiling and then going about my day. He’ll come around to how I think about things. Or he’ll leave. I mean, he loves me, and by that point he will have invested years in our relationship, and he will no longer have any friends, and he will have passed-up that job opportunity in that awesome town close to his family so he could stay in the area, but in the end, it’s his call.
- The last thing is, I mean I hate to say it, but there’s a part of me that feels like I’m settling. He’s so cute and funny and nice, but…I don’t know, I guess my idea of a perfect man is someone really driven and ambitious, but with a job that doesn’t take up too much of his time or energy, and who’s adventurous and spontaneous, but really grounded and family-oriented, and who’s sensitive and emotionally available, but would murder a deer with his bare hands, and who makes me feel safe, but will hold me against a wall and fuck me for half an hour with his giant dick. My boyfriend is great and all, but he’s just not going to fuck me against a wall for half an hour and then offer up his take on whether women in contemporary America are still subjected to the double-bind.
Men. Can’t live with them, can pass the chardonnay.
*I have not started seeing anyone.