Once upon a time I dated a guy that was such a bad kisser
that I told him I didn’t like to kiss. (Most people like to kiss, so my plan was somewhat flawed from the get-go.) But see, this guy would have his tongue all
over my face and way back by my tonsils and into what could only have been my
esophagus, and all over my teeth… and the whole time he thought he was really
doing kissing the way it was meant to be done. He took pride in his “art.” Meanwhile, my lips were perpetually chapped and I always felt like I was two seconds away from seeing my lunch all over his face.
It was truly
awful and I dreaded making out with him to the extent that I would occasionally
pretend to see a spider on the wall behind him or feign that I’d heard someone
breaking in (men love the idea of fending off intruders) so he would go away and leave me alone. When he would leave, I
would then pretend to be asleep or have my shit all packed up to go so the
kissing could in no way continue. Weak, I know.
He was a bit suspicious at first, but he was so full of
himself that he eventually took me at my word.
Thing was, I really wanted to break up with him but I
couldn’t figure out how to do it. He was really controlling and while I’d
always considered myself a savvy kind of person, I was at that point still so afraid of
confrontation that I had no way of saying, “Look, I really don’t like you,
would you please go away?”
I did eventually break up with him and every time I think of
him to this day, a tiny bit of vomit comes up into the back of my throat (perhaps a muscle memory from all the gag-inducing kissing he forced on me). Yes,
he was very lame and gross and it’s my fault for having such bad judgment.
It would’ve been fine if his only fault was bad kissing…at
least then I could remember him fondly as “that guy who would’ve been great if
he’d had any clue about making out.” But he was decidedly awful in a number of
ways. In the interest of good taste, I’ll point out only one other flaw: he wore socks and sandals:
 | |
| And he liked to stand in first position while he was lecturing me about my character flaws. Barf. |
Oh yeah, and he was painfully boring. Now I’m done. For
real.
(Oh wait, let's talk about boring people for a minute. I've known a lot of lovely human beings over the years that made me want to jump off a cliff for no apparent reason and for whom I couldn't come up with a legitimate diagnosis. Chances are there's someone you think is "great" but to whom you can't really stand talking, right? This person looks normal and seems okay: they like "music" and "fun times" and yet every time you speak with him you think about how you could give yourself an embolism with a needle or break your ankle by falling on it "just so" to get out of talking to him. The reason is that this person is epically dull. Boring people are all around. And often times they are pretty and/or nice. But be leery of them. Keep your eyes peeled. They are almost worse than assholes because you can never feel justified in treating them like shit, because usually they are nice. Think about it.)
I think I’m only bringing this up because I can’t get over
how poor a judge I am of character. I’ve dated so many douche bags I should own
stock in Summer’s Eve. But I think I’m finally getting to a point where I’d
rather be alone than hanging out with a d-bag and fantasizing about my own
suicide over omelets.
I think that’s real growth.
*Bill Maher is responsible for the quote. I'm totally willing to date him, by the way. Does that automatically make him douche-y?
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