make me proud

January 8, 2008

I live in Seattle, where it rains most days.  I’m a freelance illustrator who works from home and wears earplugs to bed.  I have an electric heating blanket and my fiance is a craigslist pervert.

I wonder every day, usually in the mornings when I’m making him coffee and toast and hear the clicking of the mouse, whether this is really the man whose proposal I accepted over a year ago, and if so, do I really want to spend a lifetime, let alone another minute, with a sex addict?  The answer is an obvious no.

But wait, I then think.  Reason forces me to look at this in a different light.  I’m 25 years old.  I’m not particularly alluring or witty or attractive.  I’m already getting chubby, letting myself go ahead of time.  I’ve anticipated marriage and it’s backfired on my hips and thighs.  And he’s pretty nice.  He makes me laugh sometimes and cooks foreign dinners with names I can’t pronounce.  He’s the type that would stop and help a stranger in a broken down car on the side of the road even if he was running half an hour late to work.  He says he loves me — but only after I say it first.  And he did propose.  Am I really going to find anything better out there?  The last string of dates I went on was four years ago, before we were together, when I was just out of college, back when I could fit into my Levis from high school.  They were all disastrous and I don’t think I would do much better now.

But it is hard to feel happy when he’s putting his lips to my ear, squeezing my breasts and whispering, “Come on, baby.  Let’s have a threesome.  That would be so hot.”  Watching him spend hours scrolling through the online classifieds for casual encounters and dirty no-strings-attached rendezvous isn’t my idea of commitment either.  Why can’t he just be a porn freak like every other guy in the world?  Why does he have to throw that special ingredient, reality, into the pot?  At any moment when I’m away there could be diseased hookers in my bedroom, on my heating blanket, for God’s sake, fucking my fiance.  I don’t think I want to live with that fear, never trusting the pervert I call honey and sweetie and baby.  I don’t want to, but I probably will.

No one wants to be alone.


One Response to “make me proud”

  1. pjm said

    Craigslist swingers need love too, Crunchy.

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