She spins me about, and I end up traveling over my own wake. I get lost, and it takes a few days to get my bearings again.
I caught her cheating on me last Super Bowl Sunday. Ugly breakup, and I hadn’t talked to her since. But I come home after spending Christmas with my nieces 10 months later, I pour a glass of wine and click on the TV. Then the doorbell rings.
It’s 10:30 at night and it’s her. Crying her damned eyes out.
What do I do here? I have to let her in.
So I let her in and hug her for about 20 minutes while we stand in my kitchen. I know it was 20 minutes because I kept looking at the oven clock while she was weeping uncontrollably. When she calms down she tells me she ruined Christmas with her sister, her mom, and the guy she left me for (two separate events in the same night). I’m the only friend she has left, etc, etc.
I buy that because we dated for three years and she ruined plenty of Thanksgivings by drinking too much. I want to say all types of things about how she hurt me, but I can’t be mean to a distraught women. And I have to admit, though I thought I had pretty much gotten over her, there’s this little demon in the back of my brain that’s still holding a torch for the self centered, drunken, lying whore. The chick is useless. She’s 28 years old and never had a driver’s license.
But damn she’s good in bed. You see where this is going?
So I console her and walk her home. We talk for a bit, and the whole time I’m thinking “don’t have sex don’t have sex don’t have sex”. And we don’t. But she wants me to “hold her” while we sleep. Christ I’m a moron. So, full of Christmas benevolence, I hold her and we sleep. But…
Ladies, you might not know this, but guys are very horny in the morning. So after about 10 minutes of very good doggystyle, I go home and go to work. Hungover, but smiling.
At this point, I’m kind of amused by the whole thing. But on Sunday she rings my doorbell again, after I went to bed, tells me she broke up with her boyfriend and “just needs somebody to talk to”. So we go to her place, again, and watch a movie. She drinks way too much, again, passes out on the couch and I leave. But I grab a couple of beers out of her fridge and drink 'em after I walk home.
I call her today and she lights into me about being a “lying thief”. I told her I was going to take two beers before we sat down for the movie, but apparently when she woke up on the couch the next morning I’m the fucking villain. I’m a “bad influence”. The chick pulled me out of bed, drinks my beer and blames me for her drinking too much. She’s fucking crazy, and I should wash my hands of her. But there’s still that goddamn little demon in the back of my head that is holding a torch for the useless, self centered, lying whore.
She spins me about.