My boyfriend is asking me why I'm quiet. If I were trying to talk things over, if I were trying to make this right, I would answer him instead of giving him the silent treatment--my favorite argument tactic--because it's the only way to I know to resolve conflict in relationships in a totally, you know, mature way. I would make an effort to communicate and tell him why this bugs me and maybe we could come to an agreement.
In the early days of our relationship, I would've been more forthcoming, probably because I was afraid he would break up with me, which scared the shit out of me, because I was barely hanging on to 155 lbs. If he had broken up with me, it would've sent me in a tailspin and I would’ve ended up rock bottom, at bottom of a bag of potato chips, party size, for my party of one.
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I have to ask myself: Is this going to last? Is he going to stop loving me? How much longer is he going to keep doing the laundry? I have become used to having him in my life. If we split up, how am I going to keep the evil telemarketers at bay?
How am I going to survive without knowing how to operate the dishwasher?
He alway pretends to be me when a telemarketer calls, "May I speak with Paul?" This is by the way, is a dead giveaway that the caller is a telemarketer. When my friends, my family call me, they say, "Wazzup, hookah??!?" Except of course, my grandma, who is quite genteel so she says, "What's going on with my little prostitute?"
I can't deal with telemarketers because I always end up buying whatever shit they are selling or answering totally insane and ridiculous surveys about the state of our Economy. I don't know why I can't do what any normal person would do and just scream obscenities into the phone and hang up. I just can’t do that.
Why am I mad?
I'm mad because he told his mother we'd have dinner with her at the Olive Garden without asking me. I mean, how could he, when I could've been planning some big fancy dinner for us with the package of baloney and an egg in our refrigerator. I mean, it wasn't that big a deal, but at least ask me--I would’ve said yes.
Now, I have to suffer through the 'endless salad and breadsticks,' tediously asking for an umpteenth refill. Then, I have to make sure I lined my man-purse with a large baggie so I could fill it 'leftover' bread and salad.
Yes, it made me angry, which is nuts because, like I said, I would’ve gone anyway. If this was the first year of our relationship, instead of the fifth, I would've even enthusiastically tried to think of a creative gift idea for her. After all, I would've still been trying to buy her affection, instead of merely tolerating her.
So instead, I give him the silent treatment, which by the way, is easier when you've just had botox. Later, I may even throw a fit or pick an argument, I don't know, depending on my mood and outfit. It's hard to act huffy when you're not wearing a feather boa or a pashmina.
Why do I do this? Why can't I let a relationship be? Why do I have to second-guess myself? Why do I have to question the status quo?
And whyohwhy do I let Doubt and Insecurity lie on my bed, especially when Doubt constantly sheds and Insecurity has fleas...
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Cary Tennis, that wise Salon.com sage advises a man from his dark thoughts which mirror my own.
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