So there was this boy I really liked. I liked him aaalooot. We were having a rooooomance. At one point we called it off and were both seeing other people, but missed each other, so we resumed our roooomance. This boy lived in another city. The boy came to my city, and we even met up in another city, but then the time came for me to go visit the boy in HIS city. I was going to his city for a business thing too, so it was supposed to be a play/work trip, but I was supposed to stay with the boy at his house. The boy had to be at work when I arrived (after plane, then train, then cab) so the boy left me his key.
I found the rainbow-colored key (how friendly!) just where he'd said it would be (under the mat,) and lugged my ridiculously over-stuffed suitcase up a very steep flight of stairs into an apartment about as wide as my closet that he shares with two other people. I sorted out which room was his based on family photographs and tried to find a spot in his crammed bedroom large enough to lay my suitcase out so I could change my clothes and jet out to a press party for my work thing.
Jeans, long-sleeved shirt, scarf, hat. I tossed things onto his (unmade) bed as I pulled them out of my suitcase. The boy and I had had "the talk" about not seeing (or sleeping with) other people, and once we'd worked past the few lies about the interim broad, I was willing to overlook the messy room and sheet-less bed in hopes of having a romantic weekend in between work stuff.
I had even gone so far as to have changed my Facebook relationship status to "In a relationship with" (though he didn't accept my request until after the fact). And I am now very happily "In an open relationship" with a girlfriend of mine who will hopefully beat me mercilessly if I ever try to do that again unless I've been living with the guy for like at least 12 years or so...
I stood up and started changing my clothes. My hand hit something hard on his bed as I was grabbing my shirt. "Oh, just a bottle of lube." Silly masturbating boy...
Then my eyes, for whatever reason, were drawn to his nightstand.
Hey! That looks like a pair of, umm..., earrings! Yep. It sure was.
"Oh, they're probably just left over from that girl he was banging.'" I thought to myself. Stupid, scattered boy.
I finished changing my clothes then threw the clothes I'd had on into my suitcase and pulled the airport luggage tag off of it. There was a small wire trash can in his room, so I went to toss it, when standing above the trash can, something gold and shiny caught my eye. Hey! Magnum condom wrappers are gold and shiny. (I like big dicks - what can I say? Call me shallow. I'm fine with that when it comes to a nice penis.)
"Oh C'MON!" (I really shouted this out loud.) "You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"
Messy bed, lube, earrings, and now a condom wrapper too! The only thing missing from the equation was a pair of silky, crusty panties - and I sure as HELL didn't want to come across those, so I practically shut my eyes while trying to get my shit together.
This was more than I could take. I really didn't care if the shit had been there for one hour or one year at that point, as I found it all so completely disrespectful on so many different levels, that I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible - and NEVER go back. I mean really... He had known I was coming for weeks. Who does that??? I'm a busy broad too, but if I had a lover coming to town, he surely wouldn't walk in to a man's watch next to my bed, boxers tucked in the crumpled sheets, and a trash can full of used Magnum condom wrappers.
I don't even want my lover to see a used Q-tip or tampon wrapper in my trash can. Call me a weirdo...
I texted a few friends to find a place to stay. E said "Just grab a cab and bring your suitcase. We'll figure it out. I have a friend I want you to meet."
Because I'm "Minnesota nice," I sent the boy a text asking him what I should do with the key. I didn't want him to be locked out of his house. I can be a bitch, but I'm not a heartless bitch.
Plus I'm a grown-up now.
He told me to bring the key with me- (we were supposed to meet up for our rooooomance after he got done with work and I finished with my work party). I decided I'd just stash the key back where I'd found it, under the mat.
Now, I'm the kind of chick who almost always carries Mad Libs in my bag. Remember Mad Libs from when you were a kid? Noun, adjective, adverb, verb, person in room... I love Mad Libs because they make me feel like I'm 12 years old and it's a good way to sort out how creative people are and whether they really know what a noun is. I find it extremely enlightening.
Anyway, it was also the only paper I had in this situation to write Mr. Roooomance a note, because God knows I didn't want to come across the snail trail panties if I were to look for a piece of paper in his tornado love den. Ick.
So Mad Lib it was. I chose one aptly titled "A Story with a Moral," pinned the earrings to it, stuck the condom wrapper on the corner, jotted a quick note, put it on his pillow, then left.
The note simply said:
So I was going to wear these earrings I found right next to your bed, but they didn't match my outfit. Then I was throwing my luggage tag away - and "ooooh shiny!" Something gold caught my eye! You knew I was coming. Ick. Here' a Mad Lib (with a moral) to do with your fuck buddy(s). Peace
If I were 15 years younger, I probably would have cried and punched a wall. I would have called him on the phone screaming and dumped his trash can on his bed before I left. I would have been devastated and depressed for weeks, wondering how something like this could happen to me.
Well, fortunately for Mr. Roooomance, that's not the case. I'm almost 40, and I've dealt with a cheating, lying, disrespectful bastardo or two in my day - and just don't have any more tears to cry over spilled condoms. I know that I'm a good catch, a good fuck, a good girlfriend; and the only person I will ever have 100% control over.
"It is what it is," was the attitude I left his house with that evening.
So when one door closes, a new door opens... E's friend was as lovely as promised. Good-looking, smart, quirky, funny and an amazing writer to boot. The days rolled along and fun was had by all.
By the time I got around to checking my email, I saw that Mr. Rooomance had sent me a message the night he found my Mad Lib on his pillow. I would like to report that the email was apologetic and sincere, but it wasn't. It basically was full of half-ass excuses, half-ass accusations, and half-ass snarky remarks.
There was so much I wanted to say in response, but didn't want to waste my energy. This, after all, is a boy who has never had a long-term relationship for a reason, and it just isn't my job to help him grow up any quicker than he's supposed to.
My best hope for Mr. Rooomance, is that he'll never not do a "room check" again before a lover comes over to his house.
Hi ho hi ho... On to better things I go...
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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