Title Redefined


My girlfriend is getting tired of me. I can tell. Everything I do annoys her. Everything. The latest thing: she “didn’t care much for the way I lick envelopes.” That’s a direct quote, man. Draw from it what you will, because I’m pretty sure it has some sexual connotation behind it, too.

This morning there was a note on my windshield. From you know who. “We need to talk,” it read. You know as well as I know that can mean only one thing – we’s through. Her and I will soon be no more. Defined further yet - I’ll have to start over. You know – find another woman. Woo someone new. Act courteous. Buy dinner. Meet the parents. Keep from farting. The whole damn dating scene all fucking over again. In other words – woe is me. 

“Shit, man,” I grumbled as I scanned the note. It took long enough to get this relationship started. And it took even longer to get it going in the right direction, which, if you haven’t already figured, isn’t ‘the direction’ she had in mind. 

Anyway, the note said to meet her at 7 a.m. at some shitty park. Yup, 7-fucking-a.m.. No biggie other than the fact that I work nights. And she don’t. She’s doing the corporate thing. You know: the 8-to-5-nice-clothes-clean-shoes routine. Wouldn’t doubt it if she “did lunch” with some professional fuckball in the backseat of her car, too. But fuck it if I care. As long as I get a piece every so often, I could give a shit about who she’s messing around with on the side. I’m not the jealous type. I just want mine. 

It’s was like 4 and I was just getting off work. During the drive home I considered my options and decided that the groveling-to-stay-together bullshit is a lesser evil than the phony-façade-of-a-new-relationship bullshit. Bullshit either way, mind you, just boils down to which bull shits less. Satisfied with my choice, I hit the sack.

Next thing I know – the phone was ringing. I picked it up and before the receiver even reached my earhole I hear my woman… rather, my ex-woman cussing up a blue streak. Accusations of indolence and inconsideration spewed from the earpiece like Niagra falls, man. I looked at the clock: 10:30. Seems she waited for me at the park until 8:45. As each minute ticked on by her ire escalated until she was nearly ready to pop.

So now, after all that, I’m in the boat I hoped to avoid in the first place. Single and looking.