I have, once or twice (or 10) times in my life, been accused of stringing people along. Whilst I mostly can say that I tend to talk a big talk and walk a snuggly walk - occasionally I am completely taken by surprise. Once such occasion happened in the early morning hours this past monday.
A morning full of promise. A morning in which after a night of unfulfilling sex I had come to a mental resolution that The Butcher phase of my life needed to come to an end. Having never entered the infatuation phase, he was merely a sexual stand-in. A reliable booty call that had absolutely no threat or potential of becoming more.
And then it happened.
In the wee hours of monday morning, in a haze of whiskey fumes and lids still heavy with sleep, he went and got weird on it. He dropped the L-bomb.
At first I thought I dreamt it. But, I know I didn’t… because I don’t have the capacity to dream up such an apocalyptic hookup WMD. It went a little like this…
Tries to kiss me. His breathe isn’t so great. I turn my head away. Keeps trying to kiss me. Keep turning my head. The roaming hands of sex initiation start. I just really want to sleep, which I was finally doing before the rank breath attack on my face. I tend towards insomnia and someone else in my bed doesn’t help. We’re both half asleep - My eyes are closed (too heavy) and my face is turned away and he mumbles in between some moans ”Meg… meg… I love you”. Aannnnndddd the room gets quieter than silent. I don’t say a word… mostly because the only thing I can think is WHAT THE FUCK. A beat passes and he continues “No, you know, I really do. I love you”… “I do love you”.
THREE TIMES. THREE TIMES. THREE FUCKING TIMES.
Now, the first one I could have shrugged off. It obviously just slipped out. A meaningless endearment that slithered through the teeth onto deaf ears in the muddy waters of morning boners and hangovers. Let it go man. We never have to talk about it again. Never. Promise.
But then, its like he thought about it and was like “ok, i’m gonna go with this great idea that just occurred to me” AND SAID IT TWO MORE TIMES.
I need a fucking bays worth of little “what the fuck” fish to sort this cannery of crazy out.
My powers of avoidance are strong in all walks - physical and mental. So the morning passed without injury (except for the irrevocable mental damage I incurred).
Booty call L-bomb. Our “relationship” is as follows. He is Alex’s (ex) coworker. I meet them out for drinks after work. One time when I was blackout he took me home. He shows up to my bar sometimes. I send him home at closing. I’ve bootycalled him (drunk) on 2 separate occasions. He helped me move when Alex bailed. He texts me randomly asking how my day was or “are you working?”. I pounded 5 whiskey shots and 3 beers Sunday night before I decided I could take him home.
I still wasn’t drunk enough to hear “I love you”.
BECAUSE WHAT THE FUCK.