As Good As It Gets?

“You’re pressuring me.  This is really unattractive.  You seem so needy.  You’re really pushing me away.”

I look away in total disbelief.  This from the man, and that is using the term LOOSELY, who lives with his momma and asks me to take his temperature.  The man who tells me he can’t pick up anything from the store because he worked all day.  The man who asks me to go out on cold nights because “Baby, I’m hungry.  Didn’t you know I would be?  Can’t you go get me something from McDonald’s or mmm…maybe some KFC?”  The man who calls me so often that every person I know thinks he is a stalker.  We are not talking just one phone call.  We are talking up to seven calls in an hour if I don’t answer the phone.  And I am pressuring him?  Pushing him away?  Needy?  And while we’re at it, just who here is the UN-attractive one?

But, just like the spineless jellyfish I always am with him, I plaster that smile on my face and start the “Dance of the Groveling Girlfriend,” which, by the way, I have written the screenplay and acted in so many times that my performance is stellar and I should be winning not only the Golden Globe, but the Academy Award for.  “I’m so sorry.  You know how I get when I’m stressed.  I take it out on you, the last person I want to hurt or push away.  I know you’re stressed.  You don’t need me causing any more in your life.  If you need to take a break from me, I’ll understand.”  Silently I pray he’ll say, “I do.  I do need a break from you.”  But no, he stares me down.  Shit, shit, shit…no luck for me. 

Quick, regroup and try again.  “Sweety?”  I touch his face, the crabby scowl melting away.  “You know I love you, right?  Sometimes I am such a bitch.  I just get so cranky.  You know I love you so much.  I just get crazy.”  I lean in for a little kiss, knowing he won’t refuse. 

“You owe me a blow job now.”

What the fuck?  I have just apologized and kissed ass for I don’t even remember why now.  Oh, that’s right, I asked if we had any plans for the weekend, which evidently means “Let’s get married or move in together” in guy language.  I suddenly have a mental image of me running frantically, hair standing straight up like fiery sticks, arms waving wildly, mouth open…primal screaming.  Amazing.  Frustrating.

Sitting in solitude I assess this mess I am in, something too sad to even call a relationship.  When did I become this…this…ugh…weak, pathetic thing?  I graduated magna cum laude from a good school.  I am a mother to two bright, healthy, beautiful children.  I am respected in my profession.  I am known for my independence and strong will.  I am not crazy.  Bitchy and cranky?  That I will give him, but who isn’t sometimes?  I shake my head, I’m talking physically shake my head, in disbelief.  My outward façade is so composed, no one would recognize this gutless woman I become in my own home.

I tell myself, sometimes even out loud, that I am a good person.  I have so much love to give and I want and deserve more than this.  Do I really believe it or do I say it out loud, hoping it will make it true, even to me?  Maybe this is as good as it gets.