“I’ll take the plate of absolute bullshit with a side of salty nonsense and for desert I’d like the artificially sweet affection. Box the artificial affection to go please. It will give the bullshit and nonsense some time to digest plus it taste better late night, alone, in bed.”
It was listed on the menu as 3 for fuck you. And I’m all about a good deal. The server was a charismatic handsome fella with nice lips and a truck; charisma, nice lips, a truck all good things with varying degrees of shallowness. He sold it, like he had a fucking quota to meet. Said things I wasn’t asking to hear, gave things I didn’t need, and lead me in a direction he wasn’t going. In short, for as many ways as he was good he was equally bad if not worse in other more important ways.
This wasn’t love. Strong like and stronger lust is more accurate. I’ll say anything to get you out of those navy high-waisted corduroy wide legs, type of love.
After the food poisoning set in, naturally the need to dismantle the situation was strong. To find the lesson, the silver lining, and my receipt/return policy for expensive steaks already consumed.
All endings seem to have an element of surprise even when you see the rabbit go into the hat. I was surprised. Not that it ended or that this person was not the person. I was surprised at how honestly I believed someone who was so honestly deceiving me. And my willingness to open up without wanting it, needing it, nor expecting it. And then to do it again. With the same person, without reserve.
And then the level in which I didn’t beat myself up over it. Didn’t take it personal. Because it wasn’t about me from the beginning. Actually had nothing to do with me. The joking marriage proposals, the late night “be my girlfriend”, the meeting of the family. That wasn’t me reading it wrong it was him writing it wrong.
The lesson: it’s not always about me or because of me.
The silver lining: It ended.
And well the steaks, I’d buy them again.