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.

You Can’t Touch That

http://victorspinelli.com

Victor Spinelli

I don’t like anyone touching my ass. I just don’t. Why is that so hard to comprehend? I have many other soft and lovely areas you can touch. I read a Cosmo article years ago that said something to the effect that when a man touches a certain part of your body he’s trying to tell you that he wants to be touched there. Don’t play that game with me! Just fucking tell me when we get started, or put my hand on your ass. You could let out a moan just to be sure I get the message. Better yet, send me a text the night before. Please just leave my ass out of the equation or I may start singing MC Hammer’s, You Can’t Touch That which I promise will kill the mood.

My disgust of anyone touching the interiors of my ass, ie. my rectum, may have begun decades ago, when I was still a naive teenager, I had a gastroenterologist who gave me my first rectal exam. The pain was excrutiating. As he shoved his finger in me like a hand puppet I could feel him press against my body. There was something hard in his pocket. I tried to imagine what it was, a flashlight, a roll of quarters, a screw driver. It took me years of him doing this before I realized what he was up to – I did say I was naive. I was also a late bloomer. Perhaps this is the reason I’m sickened when anyone comes near my ass. It makes me think of Doctor Allen. To this day, I especially can’t stand it when my current doctor will say, “We should do a rectal.” I respond with my standard response, “Nope not interested. I don’t do that.” Of course she always respond,“Well, you know we should at your age.“ At my last annual exam I had to go through the same discussion yet again and this doctor knows me well. I finally said, “Please write on my file, DO NOT ask if patient wants a rectal exam – patient will refuse. I’ll even sign it if you want.”

Doctor, boyfriend, lover, husband, I just didn’t want anyone up my ass. All kinds of things happen in that vicinity and trust me none of them are pretty. Just ask comedian Amy Schumer of Milk, Milk, Lemonade fame or better yet play her video. Lyrics below:

Milk, milk, lemonade, Milk, milk, lemonade, Milk, milk, lemonade, 

‘Round the corner, fudge is made, I used to think that my tits was where it’s at, Used to be concerned that my booty was too fat, But now I know the truth and that worry has been shot, Big booty’s what they want and big booty’s what I got, Tits are old news if you know what I mean, All the guys love my fudge machine, Look me in the eye, Get your face in, don’t be shy, You say you don’t like asses, Cause I fart and break your glasses, 

Turd cutter, Loaf pitcher, Dookie maker, Fudge machine, Cheaptastic, Booty mastiff, Giant tuchus, Fudge machine, All my booty empire, the sun never set, Take a shot, yeah, nothin’ but net, images-5

Milk, milk, lemonade, ‘Round the corner, fudge is made,I’m gonna make you scream and shout, For the part of my body where poo comes out, 

This is where my poo comes out, This is where my poo comes out, This is where my poo comes out, This is where my poo comes out.

Talkin’ ’bout my fudge machine, Talkin’ ’bout my fudge machine, Talkin’ ’bout my fudge machine, Talkin’ ’bout my fudge machine,

Voice over by Method Man: That’s right, ladies, Ain’t nothing better than a big, beautiful sexy booty. But bottom line, no matter how fond a behind, You better call that onion what it really is, That’s just a fudge machine, Turn up.

This is where her poo comes out, This is where your poo comes out, This is where their poo comes out, This is where our poo comes out

This is what you think is hot, This is what you think is hot, This is what you think is hot, Talkin bout my fudge machine

Voice over by Method Man: It’s where your poo comes out

I nearly peed out of my lemonade machine when I heard this. When will pop culture’s obsession with the derrière quit? Not soon enough for me AND I have a nice ass.

Enter Amy Schumer with “Milk, Milk, Lemonade,” an LOL-worthy parody of all those butt-loving songs as a promo for the third season of “Inside Amy Schumer.” 

amyschumer-milkmilklemonade