Stepping Out

December and January are chock full of birthdays.

Already done: my mother, two girlfriends, The Detective.

The next wave is here and now, right through the New Year. My brother, my sister, The Depilitator, the heartbreak, La Latina, and Prima Downhill.

Mine is later in January, kicking off another stream of celebrations. I threaten to ignore mine, "I want to hide under my bed."

Whatever was going on in all those years ago, during the months of March and April, one thing is certain. Our parents got busy.

I've been invited to a private dinner party next week, hosted by Frenchtuesdays and Laurent Perrier. My first impulse was to invite The Depilitator. He entertained the idea for a few hours, then phoned back to say he couldn't make it.

No big, I thought. I'll get another date. Then, about two days later, I remembered, it's his birthday (oops?). And I am sure he will spend his birthday with...his girlfriend. Right. His girlfriend. He revealed that piece of information after he revealed his whole shaven self to me. The lie of omission.

Once he came clean-ish, I shifted the already down-shifting romance into neutral. Since then, he told me, "I don't want to lose you." Strange. He never had me in the first place. I've been angry, befuddled, angry, laughing, angry, wistful, angry, longing, angry. But I find that my anger will not sustain itself, and in some co-freakish way, I cannot shake him.

But I have had to tell him more than once, since: "Keep your hands off of my legs." He forfeited that privilege.

I've been thinking. From what I understand of cheaters, they step out from their relationships for something physical, only to return, invigorated (to their longtime girlfriends or boyfriends, wives or husbands). A little pump, a little something to spice up the commitment. They don't tell - except in that post-modern "new" monogamy. Right.

The Depilitator is different. We all have our bags of shit, and, oh-lawd, he has his - about which I know too much - but it's clear to me that the relationship with his girlfriend isn't firing on all cylinders. Nope.

Here's what he said. Deep breath, y'all.

"Holly, I had an epiphany. I was attracted to you intellectually, therefore I was attracted to you physically."

"Fuck you," I said, the knee-jerk. "If I was three-hundred pounds with acne, would you have been attracted to me physically, if you were attracted to me intellectually?" I stopped and stared, thinking, what an ass.

"Well. No..."

"Exactly. That was a real shitty thing to say. No thanks." I was about to turn away.

"No. Wait. You're not paying attention to my epiphany."

I just looked at him, and shook my head in disbelief. "No. No I'm not. Not when your so-called epiphany is an insult."

I excused myself and went to the bar to get another drink. I know I left him standing, staring after me, fear and confusion flooding his face.

One of my girls has remarked, "Whenever I see the two of you together, I see the way he looks at you. It's as if you are his physical and emotional lifeline." She's onto something.

This is what I've determined, and I could be wrong, but I doubt it. The Depilitator is stepping out on his girlfriend. No question. And I am pretty sure that relationship is little more than physical (I have seen him ogle other women - everywhere). Lots of shaven flesh slapping against shaven flesh. Whap, whap.

The difference is this. He stepped out on his girlfriend with me. He might have found his "intellectual pump." But I believe something else happened.

He stepped out and he fell in love. With me.

(Now, if I could just shift into reverse.)

Happy Birthday.

Comments

[Anonymous L]

Isn't that the risk we always take when we "step out" and get involved with a person? that we might just by accident fall in love with them? I guess you definately mess up his life plan!