This post may be a bit of a vent, but hopefully some of you can sympathize and/or back me up on this.
Do you have friends, family, coworkers, or whoevers that just LOVE to be the ones that are put out? They'll stand because someone might possibly want that empty chair; they'll ask for something and then complain when they finally get it; their favorite phrase seems to be "No, really, I'm fine. It's not that bad."
I have a friend like this. She's the friend that ended up in our "group," and she never quite got completely eased out. Her life is so rough, as demonstrated by the following email excerpt:
We're getting married in the fall. I'm actually finishing up save-the-dates,now. It's both nice having him here, and irritating at times. As excited as I was, for the first time in several years I've got no personal space or "alone time" which will take some adjustment. He's selling cars in a nearby town, which causes me a lot of stress too. However, it's a job and all I told him was find a job so he did just that.
Let us examine this statement. Her fiance moved across five states to be with her, but now she doesn't have enough personal time. She TOLD him to get a job, but doesn't like his job. She has everything she's asked for - nay, demanded - but it's never enough. Evident in this is the total control of the martyr. Their ability to complain is based on the fact that they control so much in their lives.
AND THEN THEY BITCH.
How does one handle this? Laying down the law doesn't seem to help - it just fuels their "woe is me" fire. One can try to prevent indulging their whims, but that's usually easier said than done.
Have you dealt with someone like this? How did you deal?
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, November 14, 2011
Lessons on life and love from Beyonce
I recently met my good friend's sister. The way the visit worked out, the sister and I had some time to hang out the following day, after my friend left to fly back to Oregon.
Over a glass of wine, the three of us sat talking, and my friend's sister told me that whenever I woke up in the morning, we could go out and get breakfast together, and she'd be happy to show me around her town a little bit, as I hadn't spent much time there.
"And of course, if you'd like, we can go ring shopping! I know some great jewelry shops!"
Whoa. Wha?
Back up a little bit. I'm in a relationship. Have been for about 2.5 years. I'm 30. In the last year, I moved across the country to be with him. So, would I like to go ahead and get - if not hitched - engaged? Sure. And I don't see the point in pretending that's not the case. I don't try to advertise or bitch about it, but I'm not going to lie about it - definitely not to my closest friends. But, now I have to wonder.
I mean, I figured my friend would give her sister some backstory on me. She knew where my friend and I had met, she knew the basics of why I live in the south ... but is "she's waiting on her slacker boyfriend to propose" on the short list of details about me that I expect people to hear before they meet me? Yikes.
It brought me back to a conversation my boyfriend and I had before we moved out here. Two friends of mine had been together for 10 years, and I knew she was ready to get things moving. Get married, think about starting a family. So when I saw him, and she wasn't around, I'd nudge. And I wasn't subtle.
"Dude. What are you waiting for? When are you going to put a ring on it?"
It made me feel annoying, but I checked with my girlfriend, and she was totally OK with this type of encouragement. [I mean, I could write another blog post about why and how it is that there are certain decisions in hetero relationships for which women are basically removed from the decision-making process. You can't nag. You can't push. You're not supposed to complain, lest you be one of those gross old-fashioned girls who actually - gasp - wants to get married. Yuck. We're not supposed to care. And it's not like you could do something crazy like ask him.]
When my b.f. heard me talk about this couple, and about how the fellow needed to get his shit together, he wondered if I was trying to give him a hint.
"No, dear. They've been together for a decade. It's a different situation."
But that conversation was a year and a half ago. Are things different? Is living in the south affecting my views on marriage? Out here, people give me a sidelong look when I mention that I moved across the country to live with my boyfriend. People check my hand when I talk about him. I've literally been told that Jesus wants me to get married. His stepmother told him it bothers her that he hasn't at least bought me a ring.
I don't know. But I do know this: I told my boyfriend the ring shopping story when I got home. I'll let him decide what it all means.
Over a glass of wine, the three of us sat talking, and my friend's sister told me that whenever I woke up in the morning, we could go out and get breakfast together, and she'd be happy to show me around her town a little bit, as I hadn't spent much time there.
"And of course, if you'd like, we can go ring shopping! I know some great jewelry shops!"
Whoa. Wha?
Back up a little bit. I'm in a relationship. Have been for about 2.5 years. I'm 30. In the last year, I moved across the country to be with him. So, would I like to go ahead and get - if not hitched - engaged? Sure. And I don't see the point in pretending that's not the case. I don't try to advertise or bitch about it, but I'm not going to lie about it - definitely not to my closest friends. But, now I have to wonder.
I mean, I figured my friend would give her sister some backstory on me. She knew where my friend and I had met, she knew the basics of why I live in the south ... but is "she's waiting on her slacker boyfriend to propose" on the short list of details about me that I expect people to hear before they meet me? Yikes.
It brought me back to a conversation my boyfriend and I had before we moved out here. Two friends of mine had been together for 10 years, and I knew she was ready to get things moving. Get married, think about starting a family. So when I saw him, and she wasn't around, I'd nudge. And I wasn't subtle.
"Dude. What are you waiting for? When are you going to put a ring on it?"
It made me feel annoying, but I checked with my girlfriend, and she was totally OK with this type of encouragement. [I mean, I could write another blog post about why and how it is that there are certain decisions in hetero relationships for which women are basically removed from the decision-making process. You can't nag. You can't push. You're not supposed to complain, lest you be one of those gross old-fashioned girls who actually - gasp - wants to get married. Yuck. We're not supposed to care. And it's not like you could do something crazy like ask him.]
When my b.f. heard me talk about this couple, and about how the fellow needed to get his shit together, he wondered if I was trying to give him a hint.
"No, dear. They've been together for a decade. It's a different situation."
But that conversation was a year and a half ago. Are things different? Is living in the south affecting my views on marriage? Out here, people give me a sidelong look when I mention that I moved across the country to live with my boyfriend. People check my hand when I talk about him. I've literally been told that Jesus wants me to get married. His stepmother told him it bothers her that he hasn't at least bought me a ring.
I don't know. But I do know this: I told my boyfriend the ring shopping story when I got home. I'll let him decide what it all means.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Little comforts
I’ve been thinking a lot about exes lately.
And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.
Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?
One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.
We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”
“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”
Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.
“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”
“For her teacher,” he said.
“Yikes,” I said.
“Who is a lady,” he said.
“Oh, fuck.”
At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.
He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”
This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.
“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”
I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.
“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.
What little things we can do to comfort a friend.
Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.
I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.
But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.
And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.
Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?
One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.
We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”
“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”
Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.
“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”
“For her teacher,” he said.
“Yikes,” I said.
“Who is a lady,” he said.
“Oh, fuck.”
At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.
He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”
This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.
“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”
I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.
“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.
What little things we can do to comfort a friend.
Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.
I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.
But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The mess in the living room
I recently realized something. A little blip of recognition.
If you're a breeder: Between your parents' house, your dorm, your roommates, and then kids of your own, a retirement community, maybe a nursing home ... there are very few -- precious few -- years when you can wake up on a Sunday morning and stagger out to your living room to find you'd left a pile of underwear on the floor, empty bottles stacked up on bookshelves, and lube and toys on the coffee table. Enjoy them.
I know I plan to.
If you're a breeder: Between your parents' house, your dorm, your roommates, and then kids of your own, a retirement community, maybe a nursing home ... there are very few -- precious few -- years when you can wake up on a Sunday morning and stagger out to your living room to find you'd left a pile of underwear on the floor, empty bottles stacked up on bookshelves, and lube and toys on the coffee table. Enjoy them.
I know I plan to.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
1%
A little while ago, a newishly-single, male friend was getting set up on a date with a woman he’d only met once; the setters were a married couple. Just before the date, the setter-husband got just drunk enough to tell my buddy this:
“You know how probably 20 percent of girls will let you put it in their asses, and then only 1 percent of THEM actually like it? I’m telling you, I don’t know why, but I think this girl’s a 1 percenter.”
Personally, I lack the equipment (and inclination) to have a sample set against which to compare this data, but I’m just sayin’ this: Really?
I mean, Really?
“You know how probably 20 percent of girls will let you put it in their asses, and then only 1 percent of THEM actually like it? I’m telling you, I don’t know why, but I think this girl’s a 1 percenter.”
Personally, I lack the equipment (and inclination) to have a sample set against which to compare this data, but I’m just sayin’ this: Really?
I mean, Really?
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Dear Serial: I humped my friend's husband
Dear Serial,
Apparently, a friend of mind just found out I fucked her husband. Thing is, it only happened one time, and it was years and years ago. I mean, it happened more than 10 years ago. It happened before they even got together, it was before I even got together with my now husband. Now, we’re all really good friends and have been for years, but recently, she’s saying weird stuff like, “sometimes you just wish you didn’t know things” and just being kind of strange towards me.
I told my husband about that pity-fuck years ago, he’s not upset. What should I say to my friend?
Thanks,
Married and not going there ever again
Dear MANGTEA (that’s kind of funny, at first when I looked at that, I thought it said Mangenta, which would clearly be a hot new color in men’s wear, much more masculine than purple),
Don’t say a thing. You did your duty and disclosed your long-forgotten pity fuck to your husband; it was pally over there’s job to tell HIS wife about any potentially-awkward fucks, oh, I dunno, maybe before they got married? That is, of course, if he was going to tell her. There’s a certain point at which, if you haven’t mentioned it already, you should just let the fuck lie.
Plus, what if you say something, and that’s not what she was talking about? Especially if he hasn’t told her? That conversation’s going to be fun. “Oh, you were talking about how you finally noticed that I dog-eared your grandmother’s copy of Gone With the Wind? Oh. Heh. Well nevermind all that about fucking your husband. Oh, and the “pity” thing? What did I mean by that? Well certainly did not mean that I’m more attractive than your husband or that he was super desperate in the period leading up to him getting with you. No. Not at all.”
Leave it be, Mangenta.
Love,
Serial
Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Want to tell her how full of shit she is? Do it. We dare ya. Send your email to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Homeo and Juliet
Juliet sent us this snippet of an IM chat between herself and her husband. Names have been changed to protect their identities. Being married really is a little weird.
9:36 AM: Homeo: Hello
9:49 AM Homeo: How is your morning?
10:02 AM Homeo: Good. - I have my pedicure today at 3:30. Can you get the boys, or I can get them after
10:04 AM Homeo: Actually, it’s my pedi budget. I use my own money for the pedi, I don't touch your beauty budget including waxing, cuts and color. Also, if you consider how much money I saved over the last 8 months not having to get a haircut, I am totally in the black
10:05 AM Homeo: Just cause I care about my feet. Not my problem you choose to have grungy feet.
10:06 AM Homeo: How about scaley?
10:06 AM Homeo: Lizard like?
10:07 AM Homeo: I know you do. You’re the one who called me a pedi whore. You started it!
10:08 AM Homeo: The two are mutually exclusive. Go take care of your bush, I don't care. I'm not asking you to pay for my pedi. This leaves you bush money
10:10 AM Homeo: I dare you to tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER] about this conversation
10:12 AM Homeo: I figured that. She'll think it’s funny - and probably take your side
10:16 AM Homeo: My feet are very important - I'm on them almost all day. Also, its not my fault you won't shave or try some home remedy that might cost less.
10:17 AM Homeo: I have to go [REDACTED VERB INDICATING PROFESSION]. I'll talk to you soon. Love ya.
9:36 AM: Homeo: Hello
9:45 AM Juliet: Hola!
9:49 AM Homeo: How is your morning?
9:56 AM Juliet: Great! How's yours?
10:02 AM Homeo: Good. - I have my pedicure today at 3:30. Can you get the boys, or I can get them after
10:02 AM Juliet: Whatever. I'll pick them up.
10:03 AM Juliet: Just so you know, you have to live with the results of using my waxing budget to pay for your pedicure.
10:04 AM Homeo: Actually, it’s my pedi budget. I use my own money for the pedi, I don't touch your beauty budget including waxing, cuts and color. Also, if you consider how much money I saved over the last 8 months not having to get a haircut, I am totally in the black
10:04 AM Juliet: whatever. Pedi whore.
10:05 AM Homeo: Just cause I care about my feet. Not my problem you choose to have grungy feet.
10:05 AM Juliet: FU! My feet are not grungy.
10:06 AM Homeo: How about scaley?
10:06 AM Homeo: Lizard like?
10:07 AM Juliet: My feet are fine. I take very good care of them.
10:07 AM Homeo: I know you do. You’re the one who called me a pedi whore. You started it!
10:07 AM Juliet: Well, just know that if not for your pedi, I'd have a nice bush.
10:08 AM Homeo: The two are mutually exclusive. Go take care of your bush, I don't care. I'm not asking you to pay for my pedi. This leaves you bush money
10:09 AM Juliet: I guess I should say bush bucks.
10:10 AM Homeo: I dare you to tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER] about this conversation
10:11 AM Juliet: No way - plus he's not even here.
10:11 AM Juliet: I'll tell [REDACTED CO-WORKER #2] though
10:12 AM Homeo: I figured that. She'll think it’s funny - and probably take your side
10:15 AM Juliet: Damn straight she'll take my side! There's only so much salon money to go around, my spendthrift friend, and you are wasting it on your toes when it could be used to maintain more important regions.
10:16 AM Homeo: My feet are very important - I'm on them almost all day. Also, its not my fault you won't shave or try some home remedy that might cost less.
10:16 AM Juliet: (stony silence)
10:17 AM Homeo: I have to go [REDACTED VERB INDICATING PROFESSION]. I'll talk to you soon. Love ya.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
In praise of Monday night nookie
This note from "Old Married Hag" (she came up with that name, not me) came in as a response to my latest Dear Serial column.
Serial here. You got a question for me, dating (or, apparently marriage)-related? Or do you have feedback on my advice? C'mon. I know at least some of y'all think I'm full of shit. E-mail me at seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
As Serial pointed out a few days ago, married life can be unkind to the old sex life. Kids, cooking, mortgages, soccer practice - who has the time for sex? Or the energy?
Which is why marriages like mine descend into the deadly rut of Saturday-night sexcapades. Sure, we throw on a porno occasionally or bust out a dildo. But sex on Saturdays after the kids were in bed had taken on a distinctively dull feeling. Yawn, is it Saturday night again? OK, you get the KY.
Which is why my new solution is so much fun: Monday night nookie!
I know it seems like not such a groundbreaking notion, but Monday night nookie has freshened up my week considerably. Sex outside the humdrum routine of a 15-year-relationship adds a spice that's all to rare for those of us who are old enough to have voted for Clinton. And who knows what a day-of-the-week shakeup could lead to? This week, adding Monday sex also introduced a new location to the repertoire. Nothing like a carpet burn on the ass to remind you that sex is fun even when it's not in bed or on the couch.
Getting out of the sex rut may also lead to other firsts: It's surprising how open to experimentation both of you will be if you just step outside the normal screwing 'schedule.'
Dating may be weird, but marriage can be weirder. And hotter.
Serial here. You got a question for me, dating (or, apparently marriage)-related? Or do you have feedback on my advice? C'mon. I know at least some of y'all think I'm full of shit. E-mail me at seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Dear Serial Monogamist: Time to get freaky?
Dear Serial Monogamist,
Any recommendations for spicing up a lackluster sex life?
Signed,
A lady who thinks being married is weirder
OK, Weirder, you didn’t give me much to go on. I mean, what have you tried? Role play? S&M? Pegging? Watching porn together? Sex toys? Dirty talk? Sex in public? New positions? Dress-up? Sex games? Threesomes? Stripteases? A little ass play? Have you been doing your Kegels?
I kind of hope you haven’t tried all that, to be honest. Because I sometimes wonder how couples who start off with crazy rockstar monster sex deal once they get bored with THAT. “God, the sex swing and the midgets again? Snore.” What a nightmare.
However, if you’ve been having mellow, vanilla sex with your hubby, then there’s a long list of things you can introduce that can make things seem new again. The internet is full of ideas.
Of course, that advice assumes that you and your husband are willing to try. And that can be scary and weird. But you have to talk to your husband, and tell him that you’re not happy with the situation as it is and make sure he gets that it’s important that you guys fix the problem. Because it is important. Humping matters. And who knows, maybe there’s been something he’s been wanting to try that he was afraid to bring up. What if all you have to do is put on some high heels while you go at it, and suddenly he’s all wound up and the next thing you know you are, too?
Don’t forget this, though: Being negative in the conversation won’t help. You don’t want him to feel like a loser who can’t get you off, because then what’s his motivation to work on finding your G spot? The whole thing needs to be fun. “It’s an adventure, honey! An adventure that leads to more sex!” Who’s going to say no to that? If he does, after you approach it in a positive way, if he’s still hesitant, you could always tell him that satisfied wives give more BJs.
Love,
Serial
Got a dating question for Serial Monogamist? Let's hear it. Send it to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Gay Marriage is Weird?
A story in the NYT tipped me off to this video, apparently a response to recent same sex marriage victories.
But the online responses are so much better:
But the online responses are so much better:
Thursday, November 13, 2008
The First Thing I Would Do With A Time Machine
**Editors' Note: Thomas Richter sent this guest post in today. We personally don't see anything wrong with being remembered for a harmless request such as he made, but then again..."
When I was younger I got engaged to a girl I had met online. Before I squandered my savings on a ring and asked her father if I could marry his daughter, I had met her in person just five times. She lived on the other side of the country and she believed in abstinence until marriage. I didn't, but I pretended I did. We talked on the phone constantly. Both of us were still in college.
About six months before we were planning to get married, she went to study abroad in Malta. I thought, who studies abroad in fucking Malta? Why Malta of all places in the world? She was majoring in child psychology, but most of the classes she was enrolled to take in Malta were about the Knights of the Templar. We said goodbye over the phone.
On her way to Malta, she called me from a payphone at the London Heathrow Airport and said, "Listen…I've been thinking." I've noticed that when people start parroting clichéd Hollywood script lines it's because they don't know how to go about saying something difficult. But I wasn't expecting her to say anything difficult, so I interrupted her and said, "Yeah. So have I. I know you don't want to have sex before marriage—and neither do I, believe me—but can we maybe try phone sex?" All I could hear on the other end of the line was the announcement of a departing flight in the background.
"I'm going to Malta," she said after a huge pause.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "I mean when you come back."
I saw a movie a while ago in which one of the main characters says authoritatively that the only reason girls go to Italy is to sleep with Italian guys. Same goes for Malta, apparently.
Even now, years later, I can't believe that happened. It's too much like a movie. I just wish it could have been more like a movie in which the last memorable thing a character says before getting dumped for the countless potential romantic encounters that an exotic island has to offer is not "Can we maybe try phone sex?"
When I was younger I got engaged to a girl I had met online. Before I squandered my savings on a ring and asked her father if I could marry his daughter, I had met her in person just five times. She lived on the other side of the country and she believed in abstinence until marriage. I didn't, but I pretended I did. We talked on the phone constantly. Both of us were still in college.
About six months before we were planning to get married, she went to study abroad in Malta. I thought, who studies abroad in fucking Malta? Why Malta of all places in the world? She was majoring in child psychology, but most of the classes she was enrolled to take in Malta were about the Knights of the Templar. We said goodbye over the phone.
On her way to Malta, she called me from a payphone at the London Heathrow Airport and said, "Listen…I've been thinking." I've noticed that when people start parroting clichéd Hollywood script lines it's because they don't know how to go about saying something difficult. But I wasn't expecting her to say anything difficult, so I interrupted her and said, "Yeah. So have I. I know you don't want to have sex before marriage—and neither do I, believe me—but can we maybe try phone sex?" All I could hear on the other end of the line was the announcement of a departing flight in the background.
"I'm going to Malta," she said after a huge pause.
"Yeah, I know," I said. "I mean when you come back."
I saw a movie a while ago in which one of the main characters says authoritatively that the only reason girls go to Italy is to sleep with Italian guys. Same goes for Malta, apparently.
Even now, years later, I can't believe that happened. It's too much like a movie. I just wish it could have been more like a movie in which the last memorable thing a character says before getting dumped for the countless potential romantic encounters that an exotic island has to offer is not "Can we maybe try phone sex?"
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