Josh Greenberger asked: At what point is it time to bail out of a relationship?
We often hear of relationships which start out bad but straighten out in the end. We even hear of relationships which start out good but then turn sour. But when a relationship starts off with all the romantic overtones of a documentary on the Asian flu, develops with the smoothness of an intoxicated chimpanzee doing a waltz on roller skates, then blossoms with the colorful brilliance of a malnourished vegetable, you know something’s wrong. Such was my nine-month relationship with Sally. (Sally was not her real name. But that didn’t come as a terrible shock, since her age and hair color weren’t real either.)
That we were headed for rough times, was somewhat obvious on our first date. We had just seen a Broadway musical. Walking towards the car, I tried starting a conversation somewhere along the lines of “music,” “dance,” “scenery.” How I failed so miserably I’ll never know. Instead, she asked me if I could do her a favor and take her dog to the veterinarian the next day. I said, “But we hardly know each other.”
She said, “So? Does my dog have to suffer because we hardly know each other?”
As we drove to a restaurant, I sensed her attitude turning somewhat hostile. I started feeling guilty about not agreeing to take her dog to the vet. Her dog, I said to myself, probably had two broken hind legs, and Sally probably had to visit a sick aunt in the hospital. How could I be so inconsiderate? But when I found out her dog was going in for his annual chest X-ray, and she had an appointment with her hair dresser, it made me furious. Was her hair more important than her dog’s health? And I couldn’t help wondering how, many packs a day did her dog smoke?
This is when it occurred to me that this date was not on the right track. Here we were between a play and a restaurant, and she was hostile and I was furious. I had a more cordial relationship with my parole officer.
I thought, maybe we ought to go back to her house, start the date over, and see if we can get it right. Then I realized what an unrealistic thought that was. What if her parents moved out while we were out on our date? She could become my responsibility. At least in the restaurant there was a chance she might fall in love with the waiter and I’ll go home alone.
We headed straight for the restaurant.
I had a feeling the hostility did not end in the car. As we looked over the menu, she suggested I order large portions for myself. I asked, “Do I look that hungry?”
She said, “No, you look lean and undernourished.”
I asked, “Why do you say that?”
She said, “Your toupee is loose.”
“I don’t wear a toupee. My hair is just a little messed up from keeping the car window open.”
“Well, my ex-husband wore a toupee and he looked just like that.”
“Like what? Lean?”
“No, messed up.”
“Where did he buy his toupee?” I asked. “In Mop-City?”
She replied, “Who cuts your hair? Jack the Ripper?”
And so, the mood was set for a romantic dinner. I ordered lamb chops, she ordered well-done steak. When we got our orders, she insisted her steak was not well-done and had the waiter take it back. While we waited for her steak, we tried discussing a topic which could not possibly lead to any kind of dispute or resentment — we remained silent.
A couple sitting at the next table looked at us, obviously amused. I said to them, “Would you believe this is our first date?”
As they both laughed, the guy asked, “What would you two do if you were married?”
I replied, “We’d probably shoot Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles at each other.”
When Sally’s steak arrived, I was a little embarrassed when she insisted her steak was still not well-done enough. The waiter looked quite irritated. In an attempt to avoid a scene, I whispered, “Sally, please, don’t give the waiter a hard time.”
She said, “Don’t worry about it. I can handle him.”
I said, “Don’t be silly, he has a day job as a demolition expert for the Parking Violations Bureau. Your car’ll never be safe in this town.”
“I don’t care if he’s a Swat Team coordinator for the B’nai Brith,” she replied angrily. “That steak is not well-done and I want him to take it back.” Sally and the waiter looked at each other like two disgruntled hockey players about to strike each other with a puck. It was not a pretty sight. At that moment, it became painfully clear to me that my chances of going home alone that evening were unfortuntely rather slim.
As the waiter grudgingly took back Sally’s steak once more, I knew I must be strong enough not to let little setbacks turn into major obstacles. There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. We were still on good terms with the busboy.
In a short few minutes our waiter returned from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two plates. One plate contained a small stack of ashes, the other plate contained a steak and a blow torch. He leaned over and said to Sally with a smirk, “Which one would you like? This one,” pointing to the plate with ashes, “is already well-done, and this one,” pointing to the other plate, “you have to well-do yourself.”
In disgust, Sally turned to me, “Do you believe this?”
I said, “Take the ashes — the blow torch is extra.”
Our meal up until this point raised some serious questions in my mind: If a date ends between the main course and dessert, does the guy have to pay the entire check? If he does, does this restaurant have a back exit?
When I finally did pay the check at the end of the meal, I got this strange feeling that the owner wanted us as far away from his restaurant as possible — I got my change in Mexican currency.
Believe it or not, this date had a happy ending. I finally took Sally home — and her parents were there! I was never so happy to see a girl’s parents wait up for her. And I didn’t even mind hearing her father, who was apparently used to her coming home earlier, say, “You should’ve been home an hour ago.”
I was tempted to add, We should’ve been home four hours ago.
Strangely, I called her again only a week later. Despite all the things our first date left to be desired, one thing it was not — dull. And that ain’t small potatoes.
Three months later, we were still trying to get that first date right. Depending on how you look at it, things got a lot worse or very exciting. Agreeing on what to do on a night out always turned into something between a legal litigation and the Jerry Spriger Show.
On one particular rainy Saturday night I decided, rather than make the first suggestion as to where we should go, and start an argument, I’d leave everything up to Sally. The moment I stepped into her house, I said, “Tonight we go anywhere you want to go.”
She asked, “Anywhere?”
I said, “Anywhere.”
She shocked me with, “I want to go wherever you want to go.”
I said, “Look, if you’re not feeling well we can stay home and watch TV.”
“No, I’m feeling okay. Anywhere you want to go is fine.”
“Okay, let’s go bowling.”
She gave me a funny look, “Bowling?”
“Yes, tonight’s a good night for bowling.”
“You’re in a mood to go bowling?”
“I thought you want to go wherever I want to go.”
“I do. I just want to make sure that that’s where you want to go?”
“Yes,” I replied, “that’s where I want to go.”
“On a night like this?!” she screamed. “It’s raining and disgusting out there!”
“Bowling is indoors!”
After several moments of silence, she said, “Why don’t we go to a movie?”
Sarcastically, I said, “We can’t go to a movie. My dentist says I shouldn’t eat popcorn.”
“Who says you have to eat popcorn? Why don’t you **** a toasted marshmallow?”
By the time we finally left her house, half the night was gone and we were no closer to a decision as to where to go. The only reason we left was because we couldn’t even agree on which room to argue in.
Driving while engaged in a heated debate and having no idea where you’re going is next to impossible. You begin seeing every corner as a logistical dilemma. Do you turn left, right, or go straight ahead? It doesn’t really matter. But it could if you eventually decide where to go. Do you jump yellow lights? You don’t even know if you’re in a rush.
We finally reached a big intersection. No matter which way you looked there were about six choices — main roads, divided roads, service roads, dirt roads, etc. It drove me crazy. I pulled the car over and, in a rather loud tone, said, “That’s it! I’ve had it! We can’t go on like this! We make one wrong turn here and we wind up in Yukon. You know what’s in Yukon? Nothing! No movies, no bowling, no restaurants, absolutely nothing — just more roads! You want to wind up in Yukon?!”
A little shook up, she took a deep breath and said, “Hey, calm down. What are you getting so excited about?”
I said, “We have to make a decision now, before we enter that intersection.”
She said, “I already said I wanted to see a movie.”
“We can’t see a movie anymore — it’s too late. No movies start at one-thirty in the morning.”
“Okay, then let’s go bowling.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Let’s not rush into things. There are still plenty of options open. We can go to the park and watch the dew settle on the leaves. We can take the Times Square Shuttle back and forth sixty-eight times and pretend we went cross-country. We can even go upstate to a farm and watch the hens crow at the full moon.”
She said, “Hens don’t crow.”
I said, “After listening to us for a few minutes there’s no telling what they’ll do.”
“And there’s no full moon out.”
“By the time we make a decision there will be!”
Some friends of mine were getting together in a nearby bowling alley that night. We headed in that direction. We arrived only to find out that my friends had already left and the entire bowling alley had been taken over by a group of Japanese tourists having a tournament. We were informed that the only way we could play is if we joined one of their teams.
Ever get the feeling “this is your last chance?” Well, I had a terrible feeling that this tournament was the last thing going on in the entire city that night. I decided we’re not taking any chances — we played.
The only one on our team who spoke english was the captain. And he had laryngitis. This was the first time in my life I bowled and played “charade” at the same time.
Although they were all a bunch of nice people, the disappointment of expecting to spend an evening with old friends in a local bowling alley and winding up in Japan, took its toll. My bowling was not quite up to par. In the first game, while Sally got five strikes, I got eleven gutter balls. Sally asked, “Didn’t you once tell me you were a good bowler?”
I said, “‘Good’ is relative. The people I normally bowl with get quite a bit of gutter balls — in other people’s lanes!” She didn’t buy my definition of ‘good.’ So I tried convincing her that in Japan gutter balls are worth more points than strikes. She didn’t buy that either. I felt crushed.
As the night wore on, I racked up so many gutter balls, I was sure the bowling alley was on a slant. But I said nothing. I knew the guy who built the place and I didn’t want to get him into trouble.
As I drove sally home, I couldn’t help thinking how the prospects of my becoming a professional athlete in Japan got shot right out of the water tonight. But I didn’t let it bother me. In Brooklyn, Pac Man still carried some weight.
By the time I walked Sally to her front door, I had almost forgotten that the night started in anger and hostility. It’s amazing what frustration can do to you.
As she searched through her pocketbook for her keys, she looked up and said, “You know, I had a rotten time tonight.”
I said, “Thank you. So did I.”
She said, “I don’t think I want to see you again.”
“I wasn’t about to ask.” I turned and walked towards my car. As I opened the car door, I looked back “What time you want me to pick you up tomorrow night?”
She said, “Eight o’clock.” We tried not to smile. I got in my car and drove off.
And this is how the relationship lasted nine months. Such relationships get too involved to end quickly. And they’re far too strife-ridden to last forever.
by Josh Greenberger from shopndrop.com
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