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But I'M NOT BITTER...
The Goddess of battle, strife, and destruction explains it all for you
by

April 22, 2005

 

Although the prospect fills me with anxiety, I must admit that Iím becoming quite fond of Barry in a Stockholm Syndrome kind of way. I actually look forward to running into him (and each time I do, I feel a pang of regret that I never learned to drive).

 

This obsessive preoccupation is growing more peculiar every day and Iím a bit concerned about the impact it could have on my mental health.

 

I've even composed and rehearsed a dozen or so insults to unleash upon him if we happen to meet unexpectedly in the street. That can't be normal.

 

Oddly enough, he seems to be under the impression that Iím kidding -- God only knows where he got that idea.

 

He cornered me again at the gym today and this time there was no place to hide.

 

This is starting to get really annoying.

 

I could be deposited smack in the middle of the Gobi desert during a sandstorm at midnight and fifteen minutes later Iíd run into Barry. He is so adept at finding me that he has either surreptitiously implanted a GPS tracking device on my person or his parents are bloodhounds.

 

God, Iím lucky he doesnít have my phone number!Iíd be forced to chop down all the telephone poles within a ten-mile radius and flee the country in the dead of night under an assumed name.

 

I am also deeply troubled by the fact that he knows where I live -- but I think Iím ready for him.

 

I've strewn garlic all over the apartment and laid down wide lines of salt across the thresholds of each door and around every window. I stocked up on crucifixes and picked up a wooden stake in case the holy water alone doesnít finish him off.

 

Better safe than sorry, eh?

 

Heís completely oblivious to the subtext in my remarks - mostly because they distract him from talking about himself. Today I was regaled with the sad tale of his failed marriage.

 

"She was so good for me -- Iíll never find another soul mate."

 

God, I hope not. The mind boggles imagining what sort of skank would want the job.

 

"I just donít know what went wrong," he mused. "The most difficult part of breaking up is realizing that youíre not half of a couple anymore - Iím learning how to be whole again."

 

"If itís any consolation, Iíve always thought of you as a hole."

 

"Thanks - by the way, Iíd like your opinion on something."

 

"My opinion?" God, what a laugh - heís convinced he is much smarter than I am and he has absolutely no interest in winning my regard. I was intrigued.

 

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked. This could be fun.

 

"Well, itís kind of embarrassing... I just wanted the opinion of an old friend."

 

A what?! What had he been smoking?

 

"Well," he said admiring his reflection in the mirror, "I guess itís a general guy question." He flexed his biceps at me and waggled a metrosexual eyebrow in my direction. "Where would I find someone who shares my values and believes in the same things I do?"

 

"Prison?"

 

"Oh ha, ha," he sulked. "It canít be that hard."

 

"Well, what qualities do you look for in a woman?" If memory served, in law school Barry was so indiscriminate in his choice of sexual partners that it was widely supposed heíd have a go at rip in a fur coat given half a chance.

 

He pondered the question.

 

"Hmm... well, looks (obviously), then personality and then intelligence. My first wife always resented the fact that I didnít do housework. I told her "Iím the man - Iím in charge of making the money and youíre in charge of cleaning the house."

 

What do you bet that he avidly surfs those "buy a bride" sites featuring submissive Asian women or battered looking Russians? My guess is that he'll take Door No. 1 because this guy really doesn't like it when a woman has an opinion (and these women are less likely to voice it.)

 

He paused, lost in a momentary reverie, the anguish of having to scrub away his own skid marks writ large across his face. "I want a traditional marriage - and I donít want any wife of mine working. My job is to practice law and I do it without complaining. Her job is having babies and keeping the house clean. Surely that should be more than enough for any woman."

 

He doesn't want a soul mate -- he wants a pet who can vacuum.

 

What a catch, eh?

 

I canít imagine why heís single.

 

Till next time,

 

Morrigan

Copyright© the Morrigan & Heartless Bitches International (heartless-bitches.com) 2004
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