Going Out With a Fang
My girlfriend of five months and I had an active sex life — until this weekend. After a rough week at work, I wasn't in the mood (a rare occurrence), so I suggested we just cuddle. For 10 minutes she kept making advances, and became furious that I continued to "refuse" her. She rolled over and lay silent for a near eternity, then told me I had to leave. I said if I left then, I'd be leaving permanently. I asked her three times if she really meant it, and she assured me she did.
The next day, I returned to pick up some shirts and tools. I asked if I could give her a hug, and she just stood frozen while I did. Several hours later, she phoned to tell me to pick up the "rest" of my things. It turns out she'd boxed up everything I'd ever touched at her place, including an unused bar of soap. When I tried to reason with her, she shut the door in my face. I understand that maybe her ego was bruised, or maybe something else was bothering her … but, surely I deserve the same consideration I would give her. Should I call her when she's calmed down, or just walk away from this relationship, and chalk it up to a learning experience? —Vixen-ized
What kind of man walks away from a relationship problem like this? One who doesn't have the option of strapping himself to a missile and rocketing away from it at 2,100 mph, thanks to the dearth of backyard missile launchers for the consumer market. Thankfully, there's nothing stopping you from attempting to break the land-speed record for humans on foot.
If you're like a lot of people, you went into this thing hoping it would be one of those relationships right out of the movies. Just when you had yourself convinced that you were Tom Hanks and she was Meg Ryan (minus the fluctuating duck lips), you turned over in bed, horrified to find that you're actually Sigourney and you've been spooning with the Alien. ("Is that your slimy fang in my jugular, or are you just happy to see me?")
Because you're a man, you're inclined to take the handyman approach to relationship problems: "Surely, I can fix this, if only I can figure out what made it explode." This is what leads a man to spend an entire weekend rewiring a $12 toaster. Granted, his efforts could touch thousands of lives — after toasting a bagel knocks out the power grid, and Everybody Loves Raymond is replaced by "Everybody Lights Candles and Plays Charades in Front of Their Darkened TV Screens."
But, but … maybe she wasn't herself that day. Actually, yes she was. Just rerun the relationship footage, and you'll see the signs were there all along: "More coffee, dear?" she asked, her third eyeball gleaming in the morning light. The big question is why it took you five months to get a clue. "What about my needs?" you wonder, stumbling around shell-shocked, collecting your clothes and tools. When did she ever say you get to have needs? Chances are, you really, really wanted to believe she was a sweet, kind little lady looking for love, so you refused to look at all the evidence that she's a winged, soap-hurling beastess looking for staff. In the future, avoid closing your eyes at the scary parts and hoping everything turns out OK in the end. Sure, that works in the movie theater. Then again, that's where street hookers look like Julia Roberts and end up with multimillionaire husbands instead of venereal diseases.
Smells Like Routine Spirit
After two years in a relationship with (I now realize) the most neurotic woman I've ever met, I finally collected the remains of my manhood and ended it. Three weeks later, why am I fighting the urge to call her? —Missing Misery
There's a great void in your life. Just three weeks ago, you had a full-time job reassuring your girlfriend that you and the rest of the galaxy weren't talking about her, plotting against her, or pointing and laughing at her "Hi, Helens" — that upper arm flab that jiggles while waving. (Wait, are you saying she's flabby?!) You can't possibly miss living like that; you just miss knowing what to expect. But, wait — you do know what to expect. It might be time to perform a romantic reversal. Instead of putting little notes in her sock drawer to show how much you care, put them in your own to tell yourself why you shouldn't. As a last line of defense, tape romantic verse on your telephone to remind yourself how the relationship made you feel; preferably something from Shakespeare's earlier drafts, like "Roses are red, violets are blue, I'd rather come back as a squashed cockroach than be stuck with you."
Copyright 2004, Amy Alkon, all rights reserved. Got a problem? Write Amy Alkon, 171 Pier Ave, #280, Santa Monica, CA 90405, or e-mail AdviceAmy@aol.com (www.advicegoddess.com)
This article appears in Apr 29 – May 5, 2004.