Card Carrying Lesbian … What’s in your wallet?

So last night was a particularly painful evening and I have no body to blame but myself. An ex of mine that happens to be the only girl I have a hard time getting over called me out of the blue a few days ago. She wants to be friends … according to her, “Her life is just not the same without me in it.” And “Come on, don’t you remember how much fun we used to have? We could be like that again, just come over so we can talk.”

I wasn’t really sure if I had it in me. Did I have the fortitude to withstand whatever barrage of delusional rationalizations she would undoubtedly throw at me? Our history told me that if anything went even slightly sideways, I would be in for an evening of rehashing the past, but with her very special spin on it.

I was still sitting in my room talking on the phone with a woman I am currently “dating” when my ex drives up, unannounced and ready to whisk me away for an evening of wine and chit chat. Yea right.

But like a dumb ass, I allowed myself a bit of hope that this evening would result in some sort of rekindling of the friendship we once shared. So I told the girl I wanted to be with that instead of spending the night with her, I would actually be spending the evening with my ex. I’m sure she felt fine about that. Insert sarcasm here _________.

Fast forward an hour later in her apartment and a bottle of wine later. She’s prancing around in her newest lingerie asking me if I think her boyfriend will like it. I take another swig of that god awful wine, wince a bit and reply, “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

Then I watch as she teeter totters on her five inch stripper shoes over to her dresser where she pulls out several more pieces of lingerie. She turns around holding them up to herself and says, “Look what I got you! I saw them and thought about how great you’d look in them! Here, try them on!”

More wine! More wine!

I just smile and say, “Oh wow, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just put it on, I’ve been dying to see how it looks on you.” She is undeterred by my shyness. She crosses the small room in about two strides and before I know it, she’s holding the little bustier up against me, to see how it would look. She’s touching me and we both realize it’s been a long time since we were that close.

She stops for a second and looks right at me. There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence that we both knew could either end with us in bed, or just more uncomfortable silence.

I didn’t move. I just sat there and looked at her. She realized I had no intention of fucking her right then and there, so she stood up and started to put her clothes back on.

What followed was about two hours of her explaining to me how it was my fault that she cheated on me. How if I was the person I am now, then she would be a better girlfriend.

Excuse me???? WTF is wrong with this chick? I would have stormed out right after her little fashion show but she drove me there. I considered calling the girl I should have been with that night to come save me. But then I thought that asking the girl you’re currently interested in to come and get you at your ex-girlfriend’s house after you’ve spent an hour watching her throw herself at you and drinking that that might not be the best idea.

So I bit my tongue and listened to her explain how it was all my fault. I’m sure the rising cost of gas is my fault too. The only response she got from me was the occasional raised highbrow, a sarcastic laugh placed here and there and the sound of me pouring more wine.

I had finally had enough and asked her to take me home or I’d call someone for a ride. We drove back to my house in silent tension. When we finally got back I started to jump out of her car, but her hand on my thigh stopped me. She smiled apologetically and gave me a long hug. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t or else I knew I’d start crying or screaming or both. So I just said goodnight and left.

At the top of my list of dumb things I’ve done and for some unknown reason continue to do: Give this chick chance after chance to fuck with my head. Why? Because I’m an idiot.

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