Thursday, January 12, 2006

Je le hais beaucoup: La fin (serieusement!)

"Stop trying to ignore me!" said M. Biologique as he yanked the newspaper out of my hands.

I glanced over at him, coolly dismissive of his irritation.

"I was reading that, you know."

"No you weren't!" he went on. "You're ignoring me!"

I cracked a smile. Couldn't help pitying this poor boy. He looked so helpless, like a diapered infant in a grown man's body, unaccustomed to social decorum.

"Talk to me!" he demanded, beginning to appear increasingly agitated.

I threw my arms up for effect: "No, [M. Biologique.] I could never do that to you. Never. You're a shining beacon of hope! A ray of light for humanity! No, not I. I could never ignore you."

I raised my voice defiantly after every embellished word, play acting a matronly figure to quell his tantrum, before duly retreating to my seat.

Silence. He was taken aback and, frankly, looked a little scared.

Then laughter. Nervous laughter.

"If that's what you believe," he answered, "don't let me stop you."

I bit my lip suggestively and made prolonged eye-contact. He's so cute when he's a fucker, I just want to sprinkle baby powder on him. Of course, he's not allowed to touch even an inch of me without permission and I must never let my guard down in his presence. Each one of these encounters is a contained event, related to nothing, but the present. I've learned to work indepedent of him since I cannot escape and he will not release. It's how one survives a textbook narcissist who makes a career out of playing games and is here to stay. A nuisance, a gadfly, an accessory of sorts. Something one doesn't mind buzzing around as long as it's kept away from one's priorities. I must be resigned in accepting reality: M. Biologique is unredeemable and must, thus, be tolerated "as is". Like a second-hand contraption that's lost its veneer and value, you allow it on the mantle for as long as it can hold itself together.

He is the ultimate self-hating, self-defeating, self-congratulatory monster. And for what it's worth, he is also a thankless child; one I cannot immediately abandon. Serves me right for making my bed ...

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