Secrets Don’t Make Friends…

And as such, I will admit that it is absolutely no secret that my partner, and father of my youngest child, whom I have taken to calling “Noah” to protect his anonymity, is, to my best estimation, a narcissist. At least, I am hoping that’s all that there is to it. I suppose there is plenty of space provided there for him to get promoted from narcissist to full-blown psychopath and I can only imagine how much fun that shit would be.

You might be thinking, “Well, golly, Odd Petunia, why on earth are you staying together with a person you know to be a narcissist?!” And I’ll tell you, lovely one. I’ll tell you right now.

This particular narcissist, this “Noah”, has a rather predictable and steady history of behavior that began as an adult. I will save the backstory and drama, but the important bits are that he, although the slightest bit unaware of it, hates women. Not on the surface. On the surface he is just like every other perverted, emotionally immature and mind-fuckingly confusing specimens of the male species. He enjoys the aesthetics of the female form, he enjoys conversing with women of all types and flavors and whatnot, and is somewhat of a non-discriminatory participant in sexual engagements with the very minor prerequisite that must be met which is…. having a pulse. That’s correct, friends! If a jury could be convinced by a sleaze-machine lawyer that you, even by some minor loophole can be interpreted as medically viable, you have a shot, and a rather good one, at sleeping with my husband! Congratulations! You are a member of an exremely elite club known as “Every-fucking-body.”

But come one, let’s get real, here. Your ol’ pal Odd Petunia isn’t one known for taking the easy route around town, now is she? Not a damn chance! Am I stupid enough to be under the spell of his trademark manipulation tactics? Not one bit!
Am I so devoid of attention and affection that I am okay with having to endure a narcissistic fuckface to get it? — Nope! Wrong there too!

“Well, then Odd Petunia, just what is it?” You ask…

This man, this “Noah” and I happen to have some very peculiar dynamics at play here. Actually, the imporant ones narrow it down to just two. One for him on his side of the court and one for me on mine.

His normal MO, you see is to get deep into a girl’s mind or perhaps even just right to the point that she stores her feelings. He has literally all the words that work and all the gestures or actions indexed on cards that he rotates through like socks. He had you pinned down (mentally, I mean, he’s not like that) long before your clothes came off, which you “Swore I’d never do on a first date, but something about this seems so right… Wait, did I just see him hide a framed photo that was on the headboard? It must be of his mother…. Cause it feels so right … He feels so right…. Hold on, wait, are these floral printed sheets? There’s no way he picked out…. They’re from his sister, of course! … Wow! That was amazing! I love how dominate he is… Let’s go check out he coffee situation, I can’t do mornings without coffee… Gee, I wonder why he has ‘His & Hers’ coffee mugs from a romantic beach resort… Must be from his ex, and just loves the mugs. Okay, going pee, and then to cuddle up with him! Woah! His bathroom sure smells like a woman just showered here. And the makeup? He’s fucking bald. What’s with the hair dryer? He must be still struggling to get over his ex, I should go comfort him… … What do you mean I can’t stay the night? An Uber!? You’re not even going to drive me home?! ALREADY HERE?! I’m not even dressed! … Yeah, no, don’t worry, I won’t leave anything behind. Wouldn’t want your wife catching you, would we?!”

And I would come home early from my shift, hoping to surprise my man, found it odd that a maroon Prius was driving up our dead-end street at this time of night but brushed it off as a wrong-turn type of deal, but never did quite understand why he was drenched in sweat and still out of breath… Until the next morning when I found her Target-special headband peeking out from under my bed….

Too tired to continue. Part ii will come tomato.