The bad boyfriend is me- the girl
I sit, I type, and I furtively glance over my shoulder every so often, wondering if Rog is going to pass by and catch me not-working. You see, I tend to write at my bar counter because Roger usurped my office while I was out of commission the last year. The good is that I’m close to the stove, which is handy for making chocolate pudding, a writer’s version of caffeine. The bad is that anytime he emerges from the troll den, as I now refer to my former-office-that-was, is that I have to bounce back and forth between screens to show that I’m not working–or wait, I’m working.
According to the Illustrious She (who, to this day, 5 years after starting a blog, insists she remains an anonymous ghost of a person), makes me: “The bad boyfriend.”
“I’m a girl,” I moan, tired of reminding her. “Tell me again why I’m like a bad boyfriend?”
“Two reasons,” she explains, mocking me, but still serious. “First, you retreat from the page you are working on like a bad boyfriend caught looking at an adult site, when in fact, you are writing a blog and yet you act just as guilty.”
Okay, there is truth in that (but seriously, do men even feel guilty about looking at ‘adult sites’?
I don’t say this out loud of course. I just make it all about me, and realize–yes, I DO feel guilty, because I should be writing any of my three projects and yes, I do feel like I’m doing something wrong by writing this.
“But it feels so right,” I whine defensively.
“And that’s my point exactly. That’s what a bad boyfriend says,” to which I burst out laughing, and then she continues, ignoring me. “The second reason you are like a bad boyfriend is because you call me when you only have five minutes, and you speed-talk and then say “I have to go because I only have 5 minutes.’ Only bad boyfriends do that.”
“I thought bad boyfriends just never call,” I tell her.
“Nooo,” she drawls. “Those are guys who have dumped you.”
Oh, I’m so glad that’s cleared up. So then I ask her if she’d rather have me dump her entirely (e.g. not call at all) rather than call only when I have more time. “It’s like sex,” I say to her. “Wouldn’t you want to have something rather than nothing.”
She hesitates, an rare thing for She. “Sometimes.”
Ironic. Because I think that’s exactly what a bad boyfriend would say.