Beat: Girlfriend taking over my place
06-17-2008
, 01:15 AM
(naturally, MSPaints for before and after)
You all know how it starts. Usually it's left behind clothes, carelessly discarded while passionately...um...examining your new lover's birthday suit. Maybe a month or so later, she leaves a toothbrush or a tube of lipstick in your bathroom so she can freshen up, or maybe even a silk robe that she lounges around in.
'Sexy. I can dig that' you think. You look in the mirror and take some pride in having a woman's accoutrements lying about your place. Possibly it adds a sense of validation to your carelessly discarded Maxims or all that shopping you did at Pier One to entice a babe into your lair.
The next stage comes when she gets a zone of her own. For me, it started with a bowl. Made sense...rather than continue to have her lose earrings, necklaces, makeup, etc scattered about, I could put a classy wooden bowl out and save her stuff from integrating with mine. Genius. I cracked open a Keystone and patted myself on the back.
It overflowed with girly crap immediately, necessitating a thrice-bigger bowl by the end of the weekend. The war had begun.
What I didn't realize: this signalled acceptance of HER CRAP -- opening the portal to the beginning stages of cohabitation. At this point, I'm fighting a desperate rearguard action. She's coerced a drawer out of me, filled with lacy things that I don't understand, mismatched socks, random brassieres and assorted workout gear. The bowl has grown to two feet in diameter, and has enough jewelry in it to outfit a cheerleading squad. Frequently, when I do MY laundry, I'll find myself folding feminine unmentionables, and a fellow male will give me the brief, pitying gaze formerly reserved to fellow inmates.
"It's only the beginning," their battered eyes tell me. "Hell, I didn't need that drawer OR the bowl," I say to myself. Bull****. I now know how the Germans felt as Hitler was coming to power. You avert your eyes and pray that your gut is somehow wrong.
I foresee the next assault to take place in the home decorating theater. Possibly she'll come by with curtains. Maybe candles or a rug 'to make it seem a little nicer'. Maybe one of those 'classic' poster that disguises its overwhelming yuppiedom by featuring a classic car or tasteful nudity. Never mind that it's in a glass frame, was signed by an original artist, and costs more than a case of good beer. This time I'm ready. Baywatch poster, ready to hang, $5.99 at Spencer's.
I'm on to you, woman. I will not go quietly into the night, wearing a little lavender collar for you. My place is going to be MINE again. Thankfully, I have the Allies, friends that will band together and drive this creeping plague from my personal country, small though it may be. Your days are numbered.
You're still welcome to visit. Just take your 10lbs of jewelry, suitcase of makeup, 2 garbage bags of clothes, rice cooker, tupperware, and vases. I'm breaking up with your stuff.
You all know how it starts. Usually it's left behind clothes, carelessly discarded while passionately...um...examining your new lover's birthday suit. Maybe a month or so later, she leaves a toothbrush or a tube of lipstick in your bathroom so she can freshen up, or maybe even a silk robe that she lounges around in.
'Sexy. I can dig that' you think. You look in the mirror and take some pride in having a woman's accoutrements lying about your place. Possibly it adds a sense of validation to your carelessly discarded Maxims or all that shopping you did at Pier One to entice a babe into your lair.
The next stage comes when she gets a zone of her own. For me, it started with a bowl. Made sense...rather than continue to have her lose earrings, necklaces, makeup, etc scattered about, I could put a classy wooden bowl out and save her stuff from integrating with mine. Genius. I cracked open a Keystone and patted myself on the back.
It overflowed with girly crap immediately, necessitating a thrice-bigger bowl by the end of the weekend. The war had begun.
What I didn't realize: this signalled acceptance of HER CRAP -- opening the portal to the beginning stages of cohabitation. At this point, I'm fighting a desperate rearguard action. She's coerced a drawer out of me, filled with lacy things that I don't understand, mismatched socks, random brassieres and assorted workout gear. The bowl has grown to two feet in diameter, and has enough jewelry in it to outfit a cheerleading squad. Frequently, when I do MY laundry, I'll find myself folding feminine unmentionables, and a fellow male will give me the brief, pitying gaze formerly reserved to fellow inmates.
"It's only the beginning," their battered eyes tell me. "Hell, I didn't need that drawer OR the bowl," I say to myself. Bull****. I now know how the Germans felt as Hitler was coming to power. You avert your eyes and pray that your gut is somehow wrong.
I foresee the next assault to take place in the home decorating theater. Possibly she'll come by with curtains. Maybe candles or a rug 'to make it seem a little nicer'. Maybe one of those 'classic' poster that disguises its overwhelming yuppiedom by featuring a classic car or tasteful nudity. Never mind that it's in a glass frame, was signed by an original artist, and costs more than a case of good beer. This time I'm ready. Baywatch poster, ready to hang, $5.99 at Spencer's.
I'm on to you, woman. I will not go quietly into the night, wearing a little lavender collar for you. My place is going to be MINE again. Thankfully, I have the Allies, friends that will band together and drive this creeping plague from my personal country, small though it may be. Your days are numbered.
You're still welcome to visit. Just take your 10lbs of jewelry, suitcase of makeup, 2 garbage bags of clothes, rice cooker, tupperware, and vases. I'm breaking up with your stuff.
06-17-2008
, 01:23 AM
06-17-2008
, 01:24 AM
06-17-2008
, 01:26 AM
06-17-2008
, 01:29 AM
06-17-2008
, 01:30 AM
06-17-2008
, 01:35 AM
06-17-2008
, 02:24 AM
06-17-2008
, 02:31 AM
06-17-2008
, 02:36 AM
06-17-2008
, 02:37 AM
I'm old and have kids and still leave my clothes on the bathroom floor.
Crafty old veterans still have a way of maintaining the upper hand.
I also urinate in corners of rooms periodically to mark my territory.
Hell, I pay the rent, I'll do what I please.
I do light scented candles by my desk though....
Crafty old veterans still have a way of maintaining the upper hand.
I also urinate in corners of rooms periodically to mark my territory.
Hell, I pay the rent, I'll do what I please.
I do light scented candles by my desk though....
