So, with the lockdown last year and the general feeling of ennui (Capri’s new favorite word), came the worst feeling of all: BOREDOM. Boredom is a dangerous thing. Social media makes it even worse.
Last week I mentioned three fools I fought with in 2020. The second fool I fought with was an ex. Again, along with trying to be a kinder, gentler version of myself, we friended again on Facebook. I didn’t think much of it until I heard he was having a rough time. So, trying to be nice, I sent him a message. He sent a nice message back and I thought, how nice we can finally be friends. I’m a moron. We get chatting and the cracks begin to show. His life has been difficult over the last 20 years. The last five years have been brutal. I read and try to be nice. Keep in mind, we had a tumultuous relationship. We don’t remember things quite the same way. Then, of course, he begins to flirt. I tell him pretty much I have been in a great relationship for almost eight years(3b), I’m short, fat, and no sex drive. The flirting was wasted on me. I don’t care for flirting. It makes my flesh crawl. Just get to the fucking point, I say. Why I love 3b so much is there was no question about what I wanted or what he wanted. We found each other and that was that. Don’t get me wrong, we drive each other crazy. From what 3b tells me, I’m stubborn, opinionated, and sometimes cold. Maybe? Who knows?
I asked this fool to stop with the flirting. It is not going to go anywhere and besides being disrespectful, it is creepy. He looks back at our sex life only. Oh, and how mean I was. I was cruel. Honest to God, I get sick of it quickly. It was over 20 years ago. I made my apologies and I meant them. He keeps bringing up things I don’t remember or care about and oversteps every boundary. Finally, I tell him I’m no longer sorry. That is what happens when you push the victim thing too far. He overplayed his hand. Then the real psycho comes out. He tells me “your a c*#$. I correct the grammar. So, the “c” word doesn’t bother me. I worked at the bar business for 15 years. If the cook wasn’t calling me the “c” word at least 10 times a day, it was my day off. Even then, he would call me at home sometimes. I don’t care about that word. Now, the next thing he said to me pissed me off because it made me laugh and this is the ONLY time I can remember him EVER making me laugh. He ranted on and at the final exchange he said, “Enjoy your morbid obesity.” Freaking brilliant!! It is the line I wished I wrote. It was timed perfectly, with the perfect note of irony, cruelty, and sarcasm. Honestly, no one, in the history of my life, has ever told me to enjoy being fat. It still makes me laugh.
I, truly am not offended by any of this. I don’t care. It really is a fitting way to end something that needed closure a long time ago for him. I’m happy to have helped him close that chapter and have him come out as the sad prince.
A “not for nothing”, thought: covid has brought on the golden age of fat pants. I am a proud wearer of said fat pants, oversized shirts, tank tops, and zip up hoodies. All in my favorite color. I have been for years. I like to think of myself as fashion-forward. Delusional, yes. Morbidly obese, sure. Comfortable in this skin, finally, yes. To the sad prince: God bless and fuck you.