Breaking Up is Hard to Do!

rest-jumboI’d been ready to break up with this guy for three weeks. He said something dumb, really passive aggressive relating to my intelligence over dinner. I ran to the ladies room and was as sick as a dog. It wasn’t from the Artisanal agnolotti filled with ricotta and Italian pumpkin, in a walnut and butter sauce we shared,the bottle of Sancerre, the Chef’s risotto del giornoor the Bigné filled with hazelnut cream and wild berry sauce. It was my date that was making me ill. My gut was telling me loud and clear this guy was not for me.black-bathroom-design_5

I returned from the lady’s room a good 15 minutes later and said I was very sick and needed to go home. After a dinner like this I’m sure this was not the ending to our evening that he was hoping for!

I knew I needed to break up with him. I consulted with my girlfriend,

“It’s not fair to break it off right before Christmas.”

Her response, “So basically you’re saying you want a gift?”gift-box

“Not at all!” I argued.

“So then you need to do it now, before.”

With time running out I wondered out loud how I should do it; text, email, phone call or the most dreaded – in person.

“Well, since you have a mutual friend and you live in the same neighborhood you potentially could bump into each other again. You need to do it in person.”

In the meantime, I took hours to call him back or ignored his text message. I acted disinterested whenever we spoke. His numerous text messages were filled with even more hearts, smiles and balloons, his voice was as upbeat as usual. He didn’t have a clue. Finally it was the day. I thought about canceling or sending him an email instead. I didn’t. I marched over to his home in the pouring rain each step with more dread.

He was freshly shower in a beautiful pressed shirt and oh so happy to see me after nearly three weeks apart. I felt like a bitch. He was a good guy, a generous guy, a pleaser with a successful company. He wanted to take me away. Why was I letting him go? I reminded myself that he drove me crazy and had an inferiority complex. He poured me wine, he asked if I was hungry and then he practically put me on his lap. Finally it was over.

I called my girlfriend on the walk home.

hostile-takeover-big-fish“It was 90 minutes of hell.”

“You stayed that long?”

I explained that I felt I had to. The guy had been through and awful divorce which came out of left field, he was having issues with his son and his best friend. Things were not good. I wanted to stay and answer his questions about why I was breaking up with him. I did what every woman i know wants, I gave him answers. I even brought him a chocolate muffins from the best pastry shop – a parting gift.

 

“Did he cry?”

“I saw him wipe his eye.”

“Was he hamming it up or holding it in.”

“I don’t even know but I ventured to guess he was crushed. It always hurts when it’s a surprise.”

As I was finally done and extracting myself from his couch he asked, 

“Do you find me attractive?”

What was I going to say no when I was breaking up with him? Truth be told he was tall, dark and handsome and went to the gym every day – not an ounce of body fat. So i said, Yes, of course. And then 0008-Sony-Artisans-of-Imageryhe leaned in for a kiss and asked,“So could we still see each other?”I kissed him on the lips and laughed. Not one to give up easily he asked, “Do you want me to walk you home?”

By the time I got home there was a text message from him. UGHHH!!!! The next time I break up with someone I’m sending a letter – not a text message or an email, a real letter with a stamp.

 

 

 

Update: He sent my a very expensive holiday gift from Saks and a large bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream.

Mets-turbation

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With the New York Mets in the World Series I just had to share this post from an older friend (who wishes to remain anonymous) about the first she masturbated.

The New York Met’s were in the World Series. It had to have been the late 1960s. I don’t think they ever were in the World Series before. A once in a lifetime event.My parents were not TV people. Or sports people. They read newspapers and drank.  I was sent to bed. My brother had also been sent to bed but he had a transistor radio. I was under the cool floral sheets with the fan on high (back in the pre A/C days for most folks in suburbia). I felt wet between my legs.Was it so hot that I was sweating? No. I thought maybe I had peed. I reached down and could feel the warm liquid. Hmm… that’s weird. Did I have an accident? I felt around and the juice increased. Was I peeing on my fingers? I pulled my hand out and sniffed my index finger. What was that smell? I bravely licked my wet pointer finger. It was salty but although I had never tasted urine, I was sure it was not. My hand went back to this mysterious source of moisture when my brother came running into my bedroom, the Met’s had scored, My hands were down my thick, white cotton panties.

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Even though every light on the upstairs level of our split-level house was off I was sure he saw what I was doing. He was older than me. I must have known I was doing something bad. Something weird.Soemthing dirty. Something I would surely get in trouble for. I waited for him to question me, to tease me, to report me to my mother, but he never did. And I never did what I did that night again. The Mets were my ticket to my budding sexuality and also the end of my sexual experimenting for close to a decade.

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My brother grew up and moved away to college. Years later, when I moved west to go to college, I was dying to order a masturbation book from the Book of the Month Club. Still embarrassed,  I ordered a bunch of books so the masturbation book wouldn’t stand out. I was going to learn how to really masturbate and have an orgasm. It took that book and a lot of hard work but I finally did. Over and over again. Sometimes when I’m alone I can still hear the tinny sound of my brother’s transistor radio and the crowd dheering.

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