Fine, F— You

9 Apr

I’ve been wanting to write this one for a while.   And today is the day to write it.

I was talking to my friend, Michael, this morning.  We were discussing my dates from the weekend and he was very supportive and validating.

“Sometimes I really like you,” he said.  “But there are other times that you are very combative and that’s a different side I don’t like as much.”

I looked.  Me?  Combative?  Sweet little me?   Hmmmmmm.

“Well, I guess I do have that other side of me.  The Fine, Fuck You side.”

“What’s that about?”  he asked.

“Well, for example, when we you get another call when we’re talking and you say, “I’ll call you right back,” and you don’t.  It pisses me off.  After a few days of you not calling back, I get mad.  My attitude is “Fine, fuck you.  I don’t need your sorry ass.”  And you’re dead to me.  Done.  You are off my list of friends.  You obviously don’t care and go fuck yourself.”

“Well, why didn’t you just tell me that you didn’t like it?”  he asked.

Hmmmmm.    I thought about it.  “Well, I guess I could say “gee, Michael, you said you would call me back and you didn’t.  What’s up?”  instead.”

“That would be a little bit nicer,”  he said.

I thought some more.  Something was in the way of that.  Then he would know that I cared that he didn’t call me back.  God forbid someone should know that, I thought.  Why?  It made me want to cry for some reason.

I guess I’ve always pretended I was always fine.  Don’t let anyone know you care.  Don’t let them see “the other needy, pathetic side.”  After all, when Schizo, who told me I could just be myself, saw that other side, he ran.  Most of the time I hide that part of me.  I hate that side of me.  And, since I hate it, how could anyone else love it?  It’s all tied to my unlovable, listening equals love morass I guess.

“OK, Michael, I said.  It bothers me when you say you’ll call back and you don’t.”

“Thank you,”  he said.

And that was that.  I have so much to learn.  But, this is the new dating world.  Fun, exciting, pleasurable, right?    So it’s all good.  I can enjoy this journey (instead of hating and dreading it).

PS.  The guy from this weekend asked me to be truthful with him this morning when he called.  So after he kept talking and talking and talking I finally said that I wasn’t sure I was attracted to him.   I didn’t want to hurt his feelings but he asked for honesty.

“Well, you have extra weight on you that I overlooked,” he said.  “It’s about the person.  My ex-wife was a trophy wife.  You don’t look that good,”  he added.

“This conversation is going in the wrong direction,”  I said.  “I need to go.”

So, in the spirit of freedom, I am realizing that that’s his opinion and he was probably retaliating for being hurt by my comment.  And, I know I gained a few pounds after my dad died.  And, I would love to lose them and be the weight I was a year ago.

But, in the meantime, I am going to be like some of the heavier women I know and love myself as I am right now.  This is a new experience for me.  I am 57 years old and in damn great shape for my age.  I am not nor will I ever be a trophy wife.  And, if someone can’t love me for me, you know what I say.   “Fine, f— you.”  Kidding.  Sort of.

Have a great day.

 

 

 

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2 Responses to “Fine, F— You”

  1. tiredoffeelingbad April 9, 2017 at 7:58 pm #

    Really now, food for thought, what’s your definition of a trophy wife? Own who you are and dust that shit off your trophy!

  2. Rita Stein April 14, 2017 at 4:35 pm #

    My take on Mr. you-don’t look-as good-as-my-trophy wife – he’s got some issues. That’s just not okay and I think you’ve dodged a bullet because his retaliation was to hit below the belt. Who needs that?

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