Lynn finally got her ass out of a less-than-lustrous long term relationship. It was not horrible. I mean it’s not like he cheated on her, or beat her, or had some alternative life style that she happen to stumble upon one day when she wondered into their basement on a whim. But she got out anyway, because she had this nagging suspicion that she deserved something better. This, in my opinion, makes it even more ballsy.
I for one have rarely (perhaps never) had the maturity to say, “Hey- this is just not quite the direction that I want my life to go in, I think there is something more out there for me.” No, I was the type to hang on until the very bitter, bourbon-induced- broken-window and shit blowing up in my face, end. I had to make it abundantly, some would say overly, clear to myself that this relationship was NOT going to work. It was easy for me to confuse love with other things. As in, “Oh, I just love him so much that I am going to stay with him despite the fact that he got mad at me and let the air out of my tires.” Now that I am oh so much older and wiser, I can look back on incidents like that and realize: I didn’t love him. I stayed because I didn’t believe that there was anything better out there for me. I mean, who else was going to love me so much that they would go out and buy 10 cans of fix a flat so I could get to work?
So Lynn believes and she leaves the lack-luster relationship and eventually is ready to dip her toe back into the shark infested waters of dating. Enter the new guy, I shall cal him: Mr. LOL.
At first Lynn is not really that in to him. I am relieved when she tells me this because, to put it as nicely as possible, he is a cheese dick. There are 200 hundred text messages from him in a matter of three weeks. He calls her pet names like “baby” and “gorgeous” which just seems creepy. In my world, if I have not burned at least one dinner for you and you have never gone to the store on a tampon run for me, then sorry, but it’s too soon for “baby.” He also punctuates every sentence with a: ! and most often follows that up with a, you guessed it: LOL!!! Is this a man? Or a fourteen year old girl?
As it turns out, it could have been his fourteen year old daughter. Mr. LOL informs Lynn yesterday that he is in fact married with kids. Ugh. Sucker punch to the gullet! “I am so, so sorry!” I tell her. “Eh, no big deal,” as stoic as Jay-Z, Lynn says, “on to the next.”
But it is a big deal- because she had the gumption to believe that there was something better out there then a boyfriend who didn’t believe in her. And what is the first flipping thing that awaits her in the supposed sea of single men? A friggen cheater and one who does not even have the decency to identify himself as such in the first place. If you are gonna be the “other” woman/man, you damn well get to decide that up front.
I try to make her feel better by relating a similar story that happened to me years ago. Out of nowhere comes this dashing Brazilian dentist who tries to sweep me off my feet. Literally. He once tried to tango with me in a pub while all my friends sat around drinking PBR and feeding change into a jute box. I suppose this sort of behavior sounds romantic in theory, but it was way too much after a very short while. Something did not feel quite right. One night, while out for my Birthday, he informs me that he is married with a child. I leapt out of his car, stood in the pouring rain, where I proceeded to repeatedly kick the tires of his overpriced tin can sports car until my friends came out of the bar and drug me inside.
And these are not isolated incidents. It’s not like I have done a formal survey, but just yesterday I found out that this has happen to three other friends. That’s five unintentional other women just on Thursday. This of course, does nothing to account for the wives and children and even future relationships that will be shaken by these cheaters. Because they will be found out. They always are. I will never forget the day I was 15 and Ward Cleaver, aka, my Grandfather, waltzed into my bedroom and informed me that he had been “Guilty of a brief indiscretion.” If June and Wards relationship was not safe, then whose was? The effects of these “indiscretions” as people like to call them last longer and go further than any lonely housewife or horny husband might realize.
And just one tiny effect is that it chips away at our collective faith in love. It slowly erodes the belief that there is something out there for each of us, and that when we find it, it will not end in two hundred LOL-ING!!! texts messages to another woman.
I say to Lynn, “Frigging cheater, it just fires me up. Oh, well there ARE good ones out there. Shit like this just makes you even more grateful when you find one.”
“True.” She says.
I hope she believes me. And for all of our sakes, I hope she keeps believing in something better.
And now, something so terrible, I can’t quit watching. Freeeeak: