The Retard Game

**Editors' Note: This guest post comes in from "The Professor Herself" again. And it's a doozy, again. Thankfully she didn't marry the guy.**


The other day, I was snooping around MySpace looking at profiles of ex-boyfriends who have now deleted me from not only every social network on the internet, but from their lives as well (I can’t blame them really, from the helplessness, to cheating, to heartbreak. I’m a shit storm of non-conventional love.) I ran across one in particular who has been my longest relationship thus far. I noticed that he had a joint MySpace profile with this girl who looked similar to me, and has some similar interests that I had when I was eighteen. I also noticed that he was now married, and still living in Washington. I’m not offended that he didn’t tell me, of course, what was I going to do? Go to the wedding? No, I was almost in that situation with him and I’d like to avoid being in a wedding situation with him at all costs.

Now, I’m going to admit to being eighteen once. I spent most of my eighteen year old life in a chat room on AOL instant messenger, where I actually happened to meet somebody I was interested in who happened to live in Washington. This new “love” interest and I chatted online for a few months before he decided he wanted to come down and visit me. This was convenient because the same week he was coming down to visit, my mom was also going on vacation for a week and had asked me to watch her house, so my new love interest and I had a place to stay and perform debauchery together without getting in trouble.

Well, we personally weren’t getting into trouble, but I had no idea what trouble I had gotten myself into. The second night my new man was in town, I took his virginity, and he being either super emotional, or super Christian, or both, cried. This was not my first virginity that I had taken, so I wasn’t too consoling, but enough to make him comfortable. Three weeks later (even after cheating on him with a fuck buddy of mine) he was moving down to Bend and we were getting engaged. Before we were to be engaged though, I had to go up to Washington, not only to meet his family, but to watch him be baptized. This baptism was interesting because his father was not only the pastor of the church they belonged too, but was also the man he was to be baptized by. This baptism my boyfriend was going through meant no more sex until marriage, hence the quick engagement.

The engagement wasn’t so bad. My now fiancée lived in Meth Meadows near the parkway with a very good friend of mine, while I lived at my father’s house because my father needed someone to watch it because he was away on business trips constantly. His parents would sometimes visit and hold “bible study” at their hotel to gain my interest in their religion. Times were interesting, but the three of us, my fiancée, his roommate, and I would watch movies, experiment with drugs, and live a normal eighteen year old life.

Until I noticed that my new fiancée had some interesting habits.

He not only made the strangest broiled cheese sandwiches I’d ever seen, he also listened to too much electronica music, and he would make me play a game with him, which I later renamed “The Retard Game."

My fiancée and I both worked slightly professional jobs at the time: I had a nice office job and he worked at a front desk at a nice resort. We would have to get dressed up constantly, so when we would arrive back at his apartment after work, we would change clothing into something more comfortable in order to do things like go downtown or grab lunch. After my fiancée and I would change and be completely ready to go, keys in hand almost out the front door, he would run back to his room, lie down on the sofa, take off all his clothing, and act mentally disabled.

Now, when I say “all his clothing" I mean, completely naked. Now he’s flailing his arms and legs on the sofa screaming “dress me, dress me” so I would have to proceed in putting on everything from socks to underwear, to shoes and belt, and so forth, until he was satisfied with the outfit that I put him in. This “retard game” would last up to an hour at most on some days. No matter how many times I would say “We have to go, we’ll be late!” he wouldn’t listen. We were always late.

One day, my fiancée and I were meeting some friends’ downtown for coffee and he decided it was a good day for another extended round of the “retard game.” I was doing my normal girly banter of “No seriously, we really have to go, please, don’t do this, please!!!!” while putting on his socks and pants, when I heard giggling from behind me. I turned around and noticed the bedroom door was cracked open slightly. My fiancée was still flailing on the couch, so I left him, went to the door and opened it. The roommate had just gotten home from work, came in quietly because he noticed that my fiancée and I were home, and wanted to spy on us.

I looked at the roommate, sighed, and asked “How long have you been watching this?” He giggled some more and responded.

“You have no idea, I’ve been spying on you two playing this game for the last two weeks. I noticed it when we were all going to go to lunch together one day and thought it was the most hilarious thing ever.” I shook my head at the roommate in disappointment, and then started laughing as well. In the meantime, my fiancée still proceeded to act like a retard on the couch, but eventually realized how ridiculous he was being, and got up to go with me to meet our friends for some coffee.

Unfortunately this “retard game” alluded to my fiancées roommate spying on us more often. I not only caught the roommate spying on us during more retard game sessions, but while sleeping, and while having sex (yes, I became the “devil” and warded him away from his religion). Eventually, because I’m the “devil” his parents convinced my fiancée to move back home. The fiancée and I had discussed the idea of me moving to Washington, but I wasn’t willing to part ways with the lifestyle I was living here in Bend.

We eventually broke up, which now that I look back on it, I’d probably be living in a trailer, knocked up, smoking cigarettes, and falsely believing in Jesus, so I think that I’m better off now. I only still smoke cigarettes.