I went from country club wife and mother of high school students to a single, 39-year-old “cougar.” In this weekly feature, I will share with you all the mind-boggling, head-scratching, is-this-someone's-idea-of-a-joke moments from my so-called single life. Consider this your private invitation to my tremendous learning curve…
I once bonded with my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend. That's right — the woman who replaced me. After their last breakup, the new girlfriend (we'll call her Adorably Clueless) invited me over for wine, and I proceeded to spill my guts about what a la-who-zer the boyfriend is. The boyfriend (we'll call him Dirt Bag) admitted to sleeping with some other bar fly two days after Adorably broke up with him. Two. Days. After everything I told her about the depth of his player antics and she shared with me how he called her the C-word, made fun of her kids and "wrestled a little too hard with her," she got back with him.
If you've ever been in this spot, you know how your intellect is screaming at you to run like hell, while your heart finds every reason to be sympathetic to people who don't deserve it. Why? Why do we do this?
I read somewhere that once a guy makes a woman orgasm, she bonds with him chemically in a way that can override all common sense. (Just one more reason you should really get to know someone before getting western with them.) This may have something to do with these terrible blinding traps we willfully subject ourselves to, much to the horror and irritation of our friends and mothers and sisters.
I'd like to roll my eyes at Adorably and mock her relentlessly but I can't. Because I did the same thing with Dirt Bag that she's doing. After everything that dirt bag did, I still couldn't quite let go. I said we should still be friends, and in keeping with this after our relationship was over (but I was secretly hoping he'd pull his head out of his ass and we'd get back together), we met for drinks.
So I'm sitting there having drinks with this tool bag, and we're catching up and laughing and enjoying each other's company like we always did when some strange guy walks up behind Dirt Bag and says, "Hey, I've got something outside I want to show you." Dirt Bag's attitude immediately changed and he answered, "No man, I'm not going outside with you." The stranger persisted, and said, "I really think you're going to like it."
The barmaid got nervous when she saw what was going on, kicked the guy out and locked the door. Dirt Bag admitted he had slept with the guy's wife (of course Dirt Bag claimed he didn't know the woman was married).
It was later revealed to me that the strange man from the bar went to jail for plotting the death of Dirt Bag. I kid you not. I'm not making this up. If Dirt Bag had followed him out of the bar that night, he may have shot him — right in front of me. I really dodged a bullet, in more ways than one.
And so the Lord provided for me and told me I needed to be done with jerk-o once and for all. Poor Adorably will figure it out someday soon and be able to quit Dirt Bag for good.
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