Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Je le hais beaucoup: le jour apres le precedent

... and was caught standing in line with his 6' Amazon, at once trying to catch my eye while appearing suspiciously guilty, as I was receiving free vegan food from the university soup kitchen. Due to the horseshoe nature of the queue, people near the back of the line stood only a few feet away from the people in the front, so there was no way I could avoid them. I pretended not to see the pleasantly untalkative, bored-looking couple even as I forced my way through to get to the doors, which were demonically situated to further humiliate me for just such an occasion.

His Hemp Barbie looked at me threateningly. A silent sinisterness seemed to radiate from her. Me? A threat? To whom? What does Cindy Crawford have to worry about from Cyrano de Bergerac? Neither of them spoke a word to each other, their body language perceptively stiff. So here I was, in the midst of a pithy moment, feeling as if I was supposed to be the bad guy for having my heart crushed for a farming enthusiast. Under the glare of the fluorescent lights, I simply wanted the tension to cease. "Calmly walk towards them," I instructed myself. "They won't notice 'cause they're tall. Slowly, slowly ..."

And got the hell out of there.

I pulled through Round One yesterday without a hitch. "How are you?", "Are you warm enough?", "Don't make me come over there and take care of you": M. Biologique hasn't changed a bit, invariably trying to get a rise out of me at any given chance he could muster. He uses every trick in the book to make me feel the pangs of competition for his affections, however manipulated and temporary. It doesn't make any sense to me how someone (this handsome!) could be so insecure and distrusting. Even now, after disappearing for three months, he behaves foolishly when I introduce myself to other men or am seen talking to one. And, apparently, this sufficiently permits him to fly the coop in search of fresh coot because, like he's said in the past, "We're just friends." He's right, of course we are, which leaves the question: Why does he keep crawling back?

(Answer: I'm a spare tire.)

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