You'd probably never say it from reading my blog, but I have a boyfriend. A good one, actually. We've been together since 2005 and there was no end in sight... Until last night.
Not because we're going to break up, but because I am likely going to kill him with my bare hands. Why? Come with me, and I shall explain in full.
As a seasoned veteran of all things love and lust, I will now go on record saying the following:
Gentleman, there come a few times in every male's life when it is completely acceptable for you to lie as you have never lied before to the one you love. In these situations, no court in the land would convict you, and even God would look at his third Commandment, shrug non-commitally and say, "Whatever. Rules are meant to be broken." These times include, but are certainly not limited to, the following scenarios:
- "Do you think my cousin is pretty?"
- "What do you think of my mother?"
- "Have I gained weight since (insert massively stressful, life-shifting event here)
?" - "Were your old girlfriends better looking than me?"
- "So... you never actually had sex with that sheep, right?"
...Actually, you might want to come clean on that last one. If that's something that would bother her, it's best to call it quits. If not, marry her first, ask questions later.
Anyway, this list is not even close to being exhaustive. Use your gut instincts. I'm certainly not suggesting you have a torrid gay love-affair and cover it up unabashedly. What I'm saying is that if your girlfriend is sporting a muffin-top over her pair of low-rise jeans, you are certainly not the person who should inform her of this, which brings me to my next point:
Ladies, if you don't want to know the answer, in the name of all that is good and holy, DON'T ASK. There is a subtle, albeit significant difference between, "YOU LYING SON OF A BITCH I KNOW YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH THE LANDSCAPER DON'T YOU LIE TO ME OH THINK OF THE CHILDREN WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE THINK OF THE CHILDREN," and, "Baby, do you mind that my best friend in the world is a heterosexual male supermodel who's always been physically attracted to me and the bond he and I share completely outshines the romantic connection you and I have?"
Luckily, nature has a solution to this problem. Natural selection (your friend and mine) has ensured through millennia of evolution that men are emotional idiots. Likewise, women have developed into unnecessarily complex machines of psychological neediness. Ignoring the fact that this raises the deep philosophical question of how advanced we really are if nature just reins us back to stupid in the end, what does this mean for us?
Well, it explains why you see gorgeous, hilarious, otherwise intelligent women crying hysterically over their big, loud, stupid, unattractive husband/boyfriend/pimp who treats them like garbage, completely oblivious to the fact that, if this woman wasn't so needy and irrational, the second best thing to her they could obtain would be a ham sandwich.
It makes so much more sense now, doesn't it?
Sometimes, however, nature gives you mutants. Exhibit A: My boyfriend.
Have you ever seen those movies on TV with ancient Arabian princesses who get carried by four men on a day bed all around town and who are worshipped, pampered, and fed grapes by servants?
Those bitches had it rough compared to me.
My boyfriend absolutely adores me. I will be the first to admit this. I know you are probably skeptical; everyone is at first. But, after you see he and I together, you will quickly agree that there are Hindu deities that don't receive half the veneration. I have no idea why this is. I don't think I'm so fantastic. He would disagree, and frequently does. He is my biggest fan, my best friend, and--at 20 years old this is ridiculous-- I am convinced he would die for me.
Clearly he is in some way defective.
Exhibit B: Me.
I love my boyfriend. I really do. I would be absolutely devastated if anything ever happened to him. I would probably never get over it. But, if we were to break up tomorrow, I would be fine. Honestly, I have never understood why people get so hysterical after breaking up. Chill out. It's not like anyone is dead. As long as I know he is alive in this world, breathing, and happy, that is all I will ever need. Relationships are cool and all, but I am an individual outside of mine, and am therefore still complete even without it.
I believe Billie said it best when she observed, "Robyn, it's like you're the guy or something."
(I also forget anniversaries, initiate sex, and enjoy the humour of Dave Chappelle. I should probably just grow testicles and get it overwith.)
Anyway, what, you may ask, happens when you pair up a sweet, sensitive man and an unpossessive, psychologically masculine woman?
This:
Robyn: "Baby, if there was one thing about me you could change, what would it be?"
Boyfriend: "Nothing, babe. I love you just the way you are."
Robyn: "Yes, I know you love me, but I'm obviously not a perfect 10 or anything."
Boyfriend: "Well, I'd make you taller. I hope that doesn't hurt your feelings."
Robyn: "Boyfriend, YOU ARE SIX AND A HALF FEET TALL. I'm 5'4 in heels. That goes without saying. Try again."
Boyfriend: "There's really nothing!"
Robyn: "Hips?"
Boyfriend: "No, they're fantastic."
Robyn: "Butt."
Boyfriend: "I love it."
Robyn: "Breasts?"
Boyfriend: "How could you even ask me that? They're perfect!"
Robyn: "Thighs?"
Boyfriend: "Well, yeah, they're pretty big."
Robyn: "What?!"
Boyfriend: "You said to be honest!"
Robyn: "Really?! Of all the things that are wrong with my body you choose my thighs. That was possibly the one body part I had left that I didn't despise."
Boyfriend: "I'm sorry! They're not that bi--"
Robyn: "SHUT UP. Shut. Up."
Boyfriend: "You're mad."
Robyn: "I'm not mad."
Boyfriend: "Then where are you going??"
Robyn: "I have to go sit down before my femurs are ground to dust under the weight of my haunches."
You see? YOU SEE?? There is no normal but the abnormal. You're pretty much screwed no matter how masculine or feminine you are. The only difference is that in a normal couple, the woman would cry for days after this and possibly be unable to wear shorts in public for the rest of her natural life, and the man would somehow try to justify what he said, because as we all know, things with penises never make mistakes. In my relationship, Boyfriend will be the one miserable for a week, and I'm sitting here thinking, "My thighs are only big because I have a round bottom. One cannot exist without the other. If anything, this is his fault for buying me dinner all the time."
Opportunities for driving the guilt home must never be wasted. My plan is to reference this incident at least once every hour until one of us goes insane and butchers the other one with an ice pick. Likely scenarios include:
Boyfriend: Robyn, would you like to go out tonight?"
Robyn: "Can't. The people from Guinness are coming over tonight to take the circumfrence of my left leg. Don't want to jinx it, but we might have hit paydirt!!"
Boyfriend: "Robyn, why are you standing so far away from me?"
Robyn: "I'm sorry, darling. I just don't want to ensnare you in my orbital pull."
Boyfriend: "Robyn, the guilt is too much and, unable to sustain it any longer, I plan to take my own life. Do you have a length of rope I could borrow?"
Robyn: "Of course, I store many objects, great and small, in the disgusting, fatty folds OF MY GROTESQUELY OVERSIZED THIGHS."
You can already see what fun this will be. This, however, considering the planned rate of execution, I will get maximally three hours out of this material. Here's where you guys come in:
Make fun of my thighs. Post it here, laugh over it, bond, and I will happily take these barbs and use them to psychologically torture my boyfriend.
Cheers!
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