Due to a little drunken research with Twin one night, I was able to find out the date of that fateful night when the Minimalist and I first shared spit and a bed. That date (which I am choosing to keep quiet, though you don’t have to try too terribly hard to figure it out) has recently passed.
Yes, kids, that mean our pseudo anniversary just came and went.
And how does that make me feel?
A day or so before the big day 2 things happened. First, I got far too drunk and, after instructing the Minimalist to finish his drink so I could tell him something creepy (and then having to reassure him that I was not carrying his spawn), told him.
He reacted far better than I expected—he quickly chugged another beer and kissed me on the forehead.
And people wonder why I like this man-boy.
But the next day another, far less blush-inducing thing happened—I found an old note from my ex. Him and I are no longer speaking for several reasons, to say the least, but before he showed his true colors we dated for a year and a half. He is the reason I avoid FaceSpace relationships, or any actual relationship, like the plague.
The note I found was from the very beginning, when things were still good and we were still leaving each other bags of gummy bears.
And it made me sad.
Sad because things had been so good and cute and fun and then quickly changed.
Sad because to this day I’m still sporting those scars.
Sad because there is always the chance that the Minimalist and I could end up that way.
But then sadness changed to nausea.
And I spent the rest of the weekend drinking too much (yeah, again) and being probably disgustingly cute with the Minimalist. Because, oh yeah, we have apparently gotten more disgusting.
We text now. He’s spent a handful of nights in my dorm. He kisses me in public a lot and jokes about doing so whenever he sees guys hitting on me just to see the reaction. His parents like me.
I’m surprised we aren’t constantly serenaded by the sounds of people retching around us. So who gives a fuck about the world’s douche-y-est ex. I’m not going to let him turn my life into a fuck shit stack anymore.
And I’m going to continue to enjoy my minimal time with my man-boy friend. I just won’t let him borrow anything.