“Maybe ‘Asshole’ Is a Little Harsh”
I always want to keep this website topical, so you’re a reader in a pro-Obama country (United States, Kenya, Indonesia, etc.) and you get laid on election night, tell me about it. I know personally, for a fact, that people were having victory sex that night. (I know this because I read it on the internet.)
“Rachel” is a university student living in Brisbane, Australia. She describes her motive in writing in to me thus: “I recently had a bit of a roller-coaster ride of a non-relationship with this guy, am currently at the stage of hating every fibre of his being, and have decided that to write it down would be therapeutic.” Actually, I think that’s what happened with most of the sad bastards who write in to me.
Rachel’s story begins when “I met this guy… I’ll just say that he has one of those dreamy names that’s always given to sexy fictional characters and that tends to make girls swoon.” I will call him Glenn. “I met him because we worked at the same restaurant for a few months. I was on pretty good terms with lots of the other people there, but didn’t know him too well – until a party at one of the other peoples’ houses.” Rachel had found at that Glenn was leaving the job soon, and she went to the co-worker party because “I kind of liked him.”
“I was at work that evening, and some people there convinced me to quickly go home, change and meet them to share a taxi once our shift was done. The problem: WHAT TO WEAR? You see, it was a costume party! After a bit of brainstorming, it turned out one of the boys in the kitchen had a sailor hat he could lend me.”
“Upon getting home, I changed into a CUTE little dress – bold blue and white stripes, halter neck, kinda flared skirt ending just above the knee. Combined with a denim jacket, flat gold sandals and (of course) the hat, I made a kick-arse sailor. So I met up with my friends and made it to the house party on the other side of the city by 11 p.m.”
Many of the other guests weren’t even in costume, and she easily outclassed them. “I spent most of my time at the party talking to/flirting with Glenn (and drinking), and by my fourth drink was sitting on his lap (of course). When he whispered all deep-voiced in my ear ‘meet me outside in 30 seconds,’ I sure knew what was coming. Glenn and I went for a ‘walk’ and ended up making out in the park across the road from the party. Can I just mention that it was the middle of winter and I was wearing a short dress, so despite the jacket I was FREEZING. It detracted from the fun somewhat.”
“After at a guess an hour of that, I saw a cab pull up outside the house and knew it was the one meant to be taking me alllll the way back home with the other people who live near me. Glenn was trying to get me to go back to his place, which was just around the corner and apparently had plenty of blankets to warm me up.” I would probably accept an offer like this — it’s cold in my house right now — but she declined. “He also used the somewhat flawed ‘what if I never see you again’ argument. Dude, I know you’re leaving the job, but we live in the same city and I have an email address and a phone.”
On the way home, Rachel sat “in dazed silence mulling over the events of the evening.” She ended up sleeping on a friend’s floor, and since her dress “made shitty winter pyjamas, I just about froze to death.” Probably, this was God’s punishment on her for turning down free sex and blankets. If that’s the case, there was more persecution to come. Rachel waited for her hot guy to contact her, but days and then weeks passed, and he didn’t call. He did, however, waste her time with some lukewarm Facebook messaging.
After a few weeks of this, she concluded he wasn’t really interested, she concluded that he wasn’t really interested, so “when I was asked out by another friend (also a friend of Glenn’s) I didn’t see any reason to say no. This resulted in Glenn getting really angry/stroppy at me and his friend, because apparently despite not showing further interest in me and telling his friend that nothing was happening, he was *actually* just waiting for an opportunity or something.” What a dork. He was “sending me long angsty messages about how he had thought I was out of his league and wanted me to give him another shot (causing me much stress and guilt and tears).” She felt bad, and so she “decided I had made a terrible mistake and that I really liked Glenn. I decided the best option was to stay friends with the other guy rather than date him.”
When she saw Glenn next, she was out drinking with friends, “wearing a satin, cream-coloured dress with a colourful flower pattern around the hem and a gold belt around my waist, over black opaque tights, with black lace-up ankle boots.”
She was “extremely drunk (and thus emotional). We had a talk, which I can remember little of as I have rarely been as drunk as I was that night. The talking led to reconciliation making out, at which point I decided it would be a good idea to hop in a cab and go home with him.” “*Facepalm*”, she adds, in an eloquent display of self-reproach, she adds. But how could she have known? “I kind of expected that after the whole fuss he kicked up when the other guy asked me out, he would actually… want to be involved with me himself.”
Instead, they returned to their pattern of pointless Facebook contact. “When I was particularly friendly or showed interest, he would tend to be fairly dismissive and make me feel like an idiot. For a few weeks a pattern continued of seeing him with mutual friends when drinking and making out, but that fizzled out too.”
How are we to describe a dude like this? Rachel writes that “maybe asshole is being a little harsh – but I was pretty mad that he was such a drama queen… only to get what he wanted and then be interested in nothing more than the occasional hook-up.” Hmmm. “Asshole” may be the mot juste. Glenn, however, is the one who actually has cause for regret. Rachel points out that her outfits at the time were “fantastically cute. And that’s what matters.”