In my opinion, if you’re over 25 and don’t have at least one “bad boyfriend” story, something’s wrong with you. Mine, who I dated right around 23, was a totally self-absorbed, not particularly cute, questionably gay co-worker who was occasionally kind to me, yet more often a serious ass, bringing that annoying Katy Perry “Hot ‘N Cold” song to life. Seriously, I could spend weeks posting insane accounts of his jerk-tastic behavior or the emails my friends sent me pleading that I please, for the love of God, cut him loose. Because I probably spent more money on Kleenex than rent during the tenure of our relationship, looking back, I want to smack young, immature me for putting up with his nonsense for so long. What kind of self-assured woman lets a dude treat her like dirt? I did, but, believe it or not, I’m glad he’s included in my relationship Rolodex. Had I not dated Mr. Not-So-Incredible, I never would have been able to fully appreciate the warmth, kindness, generosity and – gasp! – maturity of Mr. Truly Incredible, who I later married. Keep reading »
