Chris brought me flowers every week. Chris wined and dined me and took me on spontaneous romantic getaways. Chris called when he said he would, made plans in advance, opened doors, and held hands. But when he wasn’t doing all of those things, Chris was also kind of an a**hole.
There is a moment in every doomed-to-fail union when your relationship jumps the shark, whether you know it or not. Maybe he forgets to calls one time too many or cancels again. Maybe you just wake up one day and realize you’re tired of his face. For me, that moment with Chris came when I told him that my work schedule would make it impossible to hang out for a couple of days. On the brink of a giant promotion, I was coming in early and staying late, and I warned him I would be too busy to grab dinner in the coming 72 hours.
It is a nice feeling when your boyfriend expresses interest in seeing you often and is disappointed when you can’t get together. It’s most certainly not a nice feeling to sit and watch in horror as a grown 36-year-old man gets red in the face, curls his lips into an exaggerated pout, stamps his feet, and makes whining sounds. Keep reading »
Tobey* was the perfect guy to date right after my divorce. He was cute, fun, and had a body like a gymnast. He was younger than I was, but not too young. He liked the same things I did: eating good food, going to the movies, and strolling around Manhattan. He was a great kisser and even better in the sack.
Then he told me I needed grooming.
Not just any grooming. Down there grooming. Keep reading »
James was the boyfriend who did everything right.
He asked me out first, and asked me out again the very next day. He didn’t play games. He called if he’d be late, if he missed me, just to say hello. He listened patiently. He dressed well. He told me I was beautiful whether I was opera-ready in a ballgown or sweaty from a day-long hike. He’d plan lavish marathon dates with rooftop picnics or bonfires on the beach. He was tall, athletic, and good-looking. He held the door for women, and not just the attractive ones. He loved me.
My friends approved. My brother hung out with him. My parents loved him. James, it seemed, was good enough for everyone.
But no one was good enough for James. Keep reading »
If you saw Derek* and me on the streets of New York, you might have thought we were a normal couple. You might have seen us sipping cocktails at a bar with our hands intertwined, lip-locked on the sidewalk. We might have been gazing into each other’s eyes so intently that we didn’t notice you gawking and muttering, “Get a room,” under your breath. You might have seen us on the front stoop of your building, licking ice cream cones and thought that we were in love. Keep reading »
I am newly single (again). After a fun, but exhausting, up-and-down five months, my boyfriend-ish-person and I broke up this week. I’m sad about it — I really did fall for him and had so much fun with him. But I’m also a little relieved. The drama was wearing thin. Plus, he hated my clothes. Yeah. My clothes. Keep reading »
Recently a rather naive friend was telling me about the new girl he was dating. They’d been out a few times, but he hadn’t heard from her since the last date, when he went over to her place and then had to lie down because he felt sick.
Now, wait just a minute. What? No, no, no! I took him to task. I won’t agree to the oft-voiced claim that women flat-out don’t want nice guys. But I will admit to drunkenly advising this friend that he has to be a little bit more like an asshole if he doesn’t want to come across as a pansy.
Keep reading »