Vagina Related Breakup

For the longest time I was denied the grief of being on the receiving end of a breakup. Always the breaker upper and never the breakee, phrases such as “It’s just as hard to end something,” and “I honestly understand what you must think of me,” passed my naïve lips. Oh but what the world had in store for me after 10 long years of breaking the news to poor souls that I no longer loved them.

Just shy of three years my boyfriend sat me down and told me I was no longer what he wanted.

Oh wait no that’s not at all what he said at all. In fact the first time he tried to break up with me he told me I was everything he wanted in a wife and a mother. I was perfect for him and he didn’t understand why he was feeling this way. Glowing reviews! Compliments! Crying even! My god there was crying. So sincere. How could I not be sympathetic? I told him I’d work on things. That we would work together to get through this.

A week of his face in front of a computer screen later and he told me it was over.

Let’s be clear.  From the outside looking in there were a hell of a lot of red flags that I should have seen. Forgot my birthday for one. Told me he regretted buying my birthday gift because it was fifty goddamn dollars is another. Biggest flag though? The amount of time he spent at a friend’s house, a friend who happened to own a vagina. They were study buddies and he reassured me that there was nothing there. Told me stories of her escapades and how he thought it was weird that people thought she was attractive. I want to die of embarrassment for not seeing it sooner. He was her shoulder to lean on and blah blah blah blah. I should have said something but I believed in trust and honesty and gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Oh ho ho. How surprised was I when he gave me a plethora of reasons to explain why he was leaving me?

It started with the pretty standard “we need space” and “maybe we can try things later” shtick. I wasn’t falling for it. I knew all this already. These were lies and he was trying to make me feel better.  Oh how I sometimes wish I had just accepted it. For some reason I needed more. He started giving more serious reasons saying he’s been having issues since the previous year. Never told me I retorted. I was angry that problems weren’t discussed with me. I was hurt that I wasn’t worth the effort. I accused him of falling for another woman. He was adamant that it had nothing to do with her. Oh yeah? Where are you going after this because you sure as hell cannot stay here.  Her place?  Oh right, of course.

More whys. Why why why. I begged and pleaded I told him I’d work on things. I didn’t even know what I was promising since he never gave me tangible problems! I was hopeful I could fix it until he finally dropped it on me. “I have never found you attractive and you’re not my type.”

Oh wow.

Followed by.

“There are things about you that you’d have to get plastic surgery to change so that I’d find them attractive.”

Shit.

Shitshitshit.

Well fuck.  What the hell could it be? Not my face. At least I hope not. I know he’s an ass guy and I don’t have and ass but I could go to the gym or somet-

“Is it my vagina?”

To this day I have no idea what possessed me to ask.  Oh god am I glad I asked though. He refused to answer. I became furious. He countered that he never actually said he didn’t like my vagina and that I had only inferred it.  You fuck. What an actual fuck.

The worst thing about it is that I actually considered it.

I asked him for six months to fix things. I could get a butt, go to the gym, lose weight, whatever he wanted.

“If I give you six months I will lose her.”

Oh well then. I suppose that’s reasonable.

Does her vagina spit fucking gold coins out of it? Is her vagina the holy-goddamn-grail? To him I guess it was. My vagina was a side road diner and hers was some sort of rotating restaurant on top of a space needle or some equally as fancy shit.

Devastated was an understatement. It was brutal, and in my defeat I thought he was right. Well fuck, my vagina is weird and wrong somehow. My vagina is somehow offensive. My vagina is so hideous that it drove my boyfriend away.

He moved all of his stuff out and into her lovely 'more than tolerable vagina' home two days later. I desperately wanted to remain friends and tried so hard to play it cool and pretend like the things he said were reasonable and that normal people tell their exes that they were never attracted to them.

They don’t. It’s a horrible thing to say to someone. In retrospect I know why he said what he did.  He wanted to make sure there were no lingering feelings on my end. That I would never want him back. Wanted to make sure that the breakup would make me to furious that I would disown him and he would be in the clear to move on because I would only feel hate towards him.

I mean it worked eventually; after I realized why he had said those things to me. It’s taken a bit to recover and as much as I know my vagina is actually pretty great it’ll be hard to trust anyone with my body again

 It’s been a little over 5 months since the vagina incident and I can say with a clear mind that the only thing I hope is that she doesn't have to endure the same degrading comments when he does this to her. 

Not Harmless

I went to a birthday party the once and although I am not usually a party person (small get-togethers are fine), I do like dancing and occasionally indulge myself in a night of sweaty club dancing out with the girls. That’s what this was. Heading out to a loud bar where we can barely hear ourselves think. Most of the people there were friends I grew up with. There was a mix of couples and singles and my boyfriend, while being more familiar with the group, was unable to accompany me. We made it to the club, grabbed a table and had a few drinks. After the birthday girl was thoroughly sloshed a group of us decided to go dancing. When I go to the bar to dance I have a rule of sticking close to my girlfriends and avoiding single men as much as possible. I don’t feel like trying to fend off a guy who is persistent despite telling him I have a boyfriend. This time though I was dancing with a group of people which included both single and attached guys. I was having an excellent time dancing with the girls when some guy whose name I knew was Max came along and decided to motorboat me. Initial reaction? Shove as hard as possible and take a deep breath for what was about to be the rant of the century. I was about to berate him when the birthday girl leaned over and said “Oh he’s harmless.”

I left immediately. I paid my tab off and I left. I didn’t even bother saying goodbye. Which is probably a bit rude considering it was her birthday but to be honest I was offended. Offended that when someone violated my personal space and I was going to defend myself I was told that he was harmless. I know this guy and the type of guy group he belongs to. He thinks that he is a gift to women and that any women he hits on should be thankful for it. He knows he’s attractive and because of this thinks he can get away with anything. Guys like this I can handle, but what I couldn’t handle was another woman acting like it was no big thing that he pushed his face into my breasts. Everyone was having a good laugh at the joke. Which is what it was being treated as. I have quite large breasts for my size and he thought the best way to demonstrate a joke about it was to dive right in.

Thinking that you have a right to touch a woman’s breasts because you are drunk and people consider your antics ‘harmless’ does not in any way make your acts forgivable. What he did was not harmless. What is even more harmful is the idea that men can act like this and it can be forgiven because ‘he doesn’t mean anything by it’ or ‘he’s always like this when he drinks’. What is harmful is being considered a prude because you won’t just go along with it and let someone touch you inappropriately. What is harmful is that women are being told this is normal and even they think it is okay for a drunken friend to touch them because he doesn’t mean anything by it. Every touch means something. A woman should not be told she is overacting when she accosts a man for motor-boating her without her permission. She should not be told she is over-reacting by anyone but especially not by other women. It’s hard enough facing men in those situations but not having support from other women makes you feel alone. Which is what I felt when I was standing on that dance floor with everyone defending his actions as normal and completely acceptable.

I have since distanced myself from this group and don’t see myself associating with them any time soon.

Never A Princess

I will never be a princess. Ever.Grew up adoring Disney, as most girls my age did. Was a princess for Halloween three years in a row. Was a princess for Halloween with the dress snugly over my snowsuit. Was a princess at playtime, nap-time, during breakfast and during school. The only time I was not a princess was when I was a cat. Classic.

I was absolutely dedicated to being a princess. A+. I wanted to be Sailor Moon too but princess first. I wanted all that came with being a princess. The beauty, the dresses, the big library and the talking animals that made me dresses. I wanted to be able to sing and dance and be naturally graceful and have everyone love me. These are classic princess traits! However, despite all my efforts I ended up in the exact opposite of that. For starters, I cannot dance. At all, I do a weird jig when a song comes on that I enjoy but that's as far as it goes. As for singing? Well I can toot my own horn and that's about it.

Mainly though I lack the grace of a princess. Instead of an almost weightless way of walking I was blessed with potato squashing feet that hammer down with each step. Instead of the way princesses float with ease I smash into every living and non living entity in a five mile radius when I do even the littlest of tasks.

I own no glasses. I have a collection of sturdy mugs and plastic kiddie cups. These please me because I cannot break them. I own no fine china or glass figurines.

Since I was very small I've broken everything in sight. Everyone who knows me knows to err on the side of caution when asking me to do things.

Clear the dishes off the table? Nope!

Need something from a shelf that is more than average shoulder height? Oh no!

Carry anything ever?Never!

Want to hold my baby?! Oh wow no!

Princesses also never forgot anything important. Princesses don't lose their debit cards three times a year because they think a safe place to keep them is in their bras. Princesses don't have to climb through their castle windows because they keep forgetting their fucking keys on the dining room table I can fucking see them they are right there! Goddammit.

I've come to terms with my clumsiness. Originally I hoped it would be endearing. Quirky even! Unique and funny like how Ariel doesn't know how to use a fork or how Cinderella doesn't know that it's weird to talk to rodents like that. Dude she made them hats.

It's not endearing though when you forget your wallet and your bestie has to pay for your socks again. It's not quirky when you leave your purse on a bus in a strange city and you are crying while bus drivers try to find out what the hell to do with you.

It makes for a shitty time as an adult. It also makes you a little more laid back.

When you lose your shit so often you become less attached to objects. When you are used to bad shit happening to you luck wise you get over things a bit quicker.

Lost your bus pass again? Guess you felt like walking! Oh rain? Totally cool, you needed to shower anyway.

Hell, might as well leave your keys at work and have to call your landlord to open you door!

Don't get me wrong, it's still absolute shit when you punch yourself in the face putting pants on, but you learn to laugh at yourself in the meantime.