Such a douche he cries vinegar tears

“Few novels or plays could exist without at least one troublemaker in the group, and perhaps life couldn’t either.”
~ Mignon McLaughlin

OK, so … Chris. Heh.

I was out with friends last night and I broke down and texted him. Hadn’t spoken to him in quite a while, pretty much maintained total radio silence for the last few weeks. I wanted to give him time to figure out that he missed me, then sneak in and blow some shit up, you know?

Yeah, because I’m all smooth like that. Insert eyeroll here.

So I shot off a message and put the phone down. To be honest, I was really surprised when he replied. I was ready to never hear from him again, chalk it up as a loss and what cliché can I use here – blow it into the wind, maybe.

To make a long story a little shorter, I ended up meeting up with him for a couple drinks. He took me bitching him out like a man – by which I mean it probably went in one ear and out the other, though at least he had the decency to admit he messed up. I totally stole from a note IT left me when I told him I figured he was weighed down by something really heavy – like the rocks in his head. He chuckled and that lightened the mood. I got into it about the Twins game we were supposed to go to; he countered that the next ball game was on his dime. He leaned back and looked me up and down then mentioned he could see I’ve lost weight, that I look good … and then he flashed “that grin.” I tried to stay pissed off, but obviously I can’t hold anger toward him any more than I can say no to his sexual advances.

What? Although not necessarily that bright, Chris is obscenely sexy and I’m merely human. Today I am very, very tired and I’d be sore if I hadn’t been working out so much lately. And yes, he was a monster douche to me and I am very aware of that; I know to be wary when it comes to broken promises and second/third/fourth chances.

I’m not asking the world of him, I am simply asking him to step up and be a man. If he can’t do that, I’m walking away to maintain my dignity. Whatever self respect I have left is too precious to be toyed with and I don’t want to put myself in that sort of situation again because there’s only so much bullshit I can take. The older I get the less I can tolerate not being treated well. Cliché, cliché, cliché – but also true, true, true. Blah, blah, blah.

I sound defensive and I probably am. Then again, I have bite marks on my right shoulder blade, his handprint bruised onto my buttcheek, am existing on about two hours of less-than-stellar sleep and have a boy-did-I-get-laid-or-what grin on my face.

That ManChild is my favorite trouble maker.