Please press play:
Like most evenings when I’m unable to take my sleeping pill, I lay in the neverending darkness of my room and try to make sense of my love life. CORRECTION: I try to make sense of my vacuous romantic existence. The other night I began thinking about the early signs to the demise of certain relationships. A friend of mine always reminded me of a saying her grandmother would tell her: “You’re going to keep pickin’ ’til you pick sh!t.”
Well ain’t that the muhfuggin’ truth. Catch all of the Ts from my last conversation with myself:
There was this guy I used to see, sleep with, let inside my home…however you want to slice it. All I can tell you is that we weren’t dating nor was he my man. Obviously. Here’s how my idiot mind works: I make a mental note of the thing that drives me batty about the person. I ask myself if I can see a lifetime of this anger-inducing trait without stabbing them in the throat. The answer to this question has never not been “No. No I can’t.” Why don’t I listen to my gut? It’s clearly trying to tell me something, right? If some minute detail is bugging me about this otherwise normal dude, then I really don’t want to be in anything with them. Why do I stick around for the anguish? Pourquoi.
So back to this dude. The thing I couldn’t stand was the way he ate and drank. He was the loudest chewer/swallower in the history of time and also the land before that. I cannot stress how much this annoyed my insides. You may say, “Slow down, girl. Could it really be that bad?” To which I reply:
He didn’t eat with his mouth open. He didn’t slurp his food or drink. He didn’t even smack his lips. Yet somehow I could hear every tooth he had in his head grind the sustenance in his mouth into a dust and/or paste while the sound of his neck muscles pushed it down into his digestive system.
*single blink* Guys. GUYS?! GUYS! I couldn’t. Just typing this is making bile rise in my throat. (BUT YOU CAN’T HEAR IT so I win!)
When things finally fizzled between us (for other reasons, can you believe it?), do you know what I did? I victory-jumped off my bed because I’d never have to hear him crunch pasta. Yes, crunch it. How can I hear you bite into a stove-top boiled, soft penne tube? I’m eating the same food. Mine is silent and I have a direct speaker into my own body. If I can’t hear me, why can I hear you? IF-I-CAN’T-HEAR-ME-WHY-CAN-I-HEAR-YOU!?!!!!?!? *faints*
Well, I’m still single so maybe I’ll work on this in the interim but in my defense, it was really gross.