In which a fairly intlligent girl hooks up with a boy based on his good PR.
The year was 1991. I had just ended a long term relationship with the only man I have ever loved b/c I wasn’t ready to admit just how much I really loved him. He was 6 years older and at a point in his life where he was ready to move into the marriage/babies/mortgage phase of adulthood. Me? I wasn’t even ready to admit I wanted those things – much less to actually pursue them.
I went back to school and he went to another state. We ended our physical relationship, but have remained the best of friends throughout the ensuing decades.
So after that was over, some friends from my literary group began selling me this guy they knew from high school. He had been living in Ireland for a while, but was soon coming back to the University.
“Oh he’s prefect for you,” they said. His virtues were listed as: intelligent (in the University honours program,) a writer (like me,) funny (a must for me,) nice (duh,) cute (not so important, but good,) and had a great family (Woo hoo! I was always drawn to people with traditional families! )
Still, I wasn’t much interested, but they insisted. My first meeting with RB was when he came into the restaurant where I bartended.
First impression? Meh.
But, since we shared the same circle of college friends we saw a lot of each other. I thought he was an okay guy and, as fate would have it, I was looking for a roommate and he was looking for a place to live.
That is how it came to be that three months after we met we were sharing an apartment, a bed, and a phone bill.
I look back to that time in my life and wonder what I was thinking…or IF I was thinking.
Did I ever find RB physically attractive? Not so much.
Was the sex good? Not so much.
It only took a couple of months for me to realize he was (A) not as smart as everyone thought; (B) a disciplined writer, a prolific writer, but not a very good writer and (C) actually a really selfish person.
Why I convinced myself I cared about this person I will never know.
Skip ahead 5 months and we have the breakup. Again, I convinced myself I was devastated. I cried. I raged. I moped. I slept with him a couple more times. Was I insane?
No. As it turns out, I was raging with hormones because I was two months pregnant.
Stay tuned for part 2...