This week seems to be just one technology setback after another. It seems taht I forgot my precious phone back at The Ranch. Thankfully, SuperNan brought it in to me on the same day that my internet failed. I've been contemplating signing in to MSN on my phone, now that I have it back, but methinks the outrageous bill that would be sure to ensue would make that vein in my father's forehead pop out and his head might very well explode, and, well, no one wants that to happen any time soon: at least until his new horse is trained to the point where I can go Olympic on her.
For some reason of late I've been dwelling on the fact that last fall, I broke up with someone for no reason. Jooms and I have discussed the breakup at length and her appraisal of the situation is that I did, indeed, let a perfectly good boyfriend go over nothing.
I feel the need to defend myself.
But first, I do have to say that he was a perfectly good boyfriend. It's just that every time he came near me, I ended up wanting to stab myself in the eye with a pitchfork, and I couldn't quite put my finger on why.
Unfortunately, I felt compelled to dump him after I made the greivous error of telling my father about the steak story. The steak story isn't really a story at all in that it doesn't have much of a plot, or a rising action, or a climax, or a denoument. Regardless, I made the mistake of telling my dad that one night, this individual said that he was craving steak, and of course, I offered to run down to the store and grab some steak before we met up at my house for dinner that night.
But, oh no
. I couldn't do that, because there was a sale on steak at a store that he wanted to go to in order to save us the fifty nine cents per pound. Or whatever. As my luck would have it, he didn't get around to going to the store that had the steak on sale, and so when he came to my house I said, "Ok, well, the grocery store is about eighteen feet from my doorstep. Let's go get some steak!" But, no. It would be morally reprehensible to purchase steak for the full price when we could have had steak for a portion of the full price if only someone had gotten off his lazy ass and gone to the store he wanted to go to.
So, we ended up having pizza. And I'm not even joking. All day I was looking forward to a big, perfectly cooked hunk of cow flesh for supper and I ended up eating pizza pizza, and he didn't even splurge for the one with chicken on it.
Let me repeat that: He didn't even splurge for the one with chicken ON IT.
Now, this might not sound like that big of a deal to most sane, rational people. However, I am far from being even remotely sane or
rational, and I have a certain belief that this is something that comes down through a long line of insane, irrational members of my family.
The thing about dating a farmer's daughter? Is that you just don't go depriving said daughter of steak. That's the way things are.
There had better be a frickin' Armageddon going on, or an extinction of the entire bovine species, or some nuclear disaster going on before you deprive my
father's daughter of steak. So help you God. And the Saints. And you'd better say a Hail Mary for good luck.
So while now this individual and I have been cut off from contact because, well, I dumped his sorry ass on the phone, in the middle of the day, without warning and when he thought things were going great and really? I'd drop me from my MSN list if I did that too. Regardless, we're out of contact and like I so often do, I just feel like sending him an email because I know deep down inside what it is like to get your sorry ass dumped on the phone in the middle of the day when you think things are going great. And really, I should just say "Hey, Dude... Look, sorry for dumping you on the phone in the middle of the day when you thought things were going great."
But, the thing is? And trust me on this one because I studied it in Social Psychology 101 and LORD KNOWS that a first year Social Psych class can never
lead us astray... well, the thing that I learned is that we all spend copious amounts of time worrying about what others are thinking about in regards to us, and they all spend equally copious amounts of time worrying that we're thinking about them, and in the end? Everyone kind of has better things to think about than each other and whether or not they are worthy of emailing three months after the demise of a six week dating... thing? Because I don't really think it qualified as a relationship. Regardless, we all know he's moved on. So why am I sitting here feeling like I owe him some kind of apology because I had to break up with him because he
was a big cheapy?
I'm not sure if it's a matter of me needing to get out more, or of me not having enough good, solid reading material around, or the absolute dearth of alcohol that has been lubricating my veins of late. I strongly suspect it's a near-lethal combination of all three.