It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the useless argument that was the nail in the coffin of my disastrous on-again, off-again, mostly pen pal friendship with David 1.0. You just can’t call what we’ve been resurrecting off and on a “relationship” since we haven’t had sex since October, and then it was disappointing.
The classic physical contact took place in my beautiful room at the Rosewood Hotel in London, where I was staying for work. He’d brought sex toys and a blindfold, so there was no skin to skin, no real kissing, just him rummaging around, as if he wanted to find Marmite in the back of a cupboard. He wasn’t excited. Instead, I felt annoyed by the blindfold, since I could no longer admire the sparkling erotic edifice that is the London Shard.
Back on the camel’s back. He had come over the weekend (he was sleeping on the couch) to help me move some things to my new house. We packed up my car and I stopped for gas. Big mistake. As we stood in line, she asked, “Do you know how to tell which side the car’s gas cap is on?”
Me: ‘Well, I know it’s on the driver’s side because I looked.’
Him: ‘But without looking outside. See the little icon of a gas pump? The hose is on the right, which means the gas cap is on the right.’
Me: ‘Okay, but I know which side he’s on.’
Him: ‘But what would happen if you were in a rental car?’
I said I was explaining; that their goal is to be helpful and make me laugh, not lecture me. He continued for so long that I had to blurt out, ‘Please stop talking about gas pumps, you’re driving me crazy!’ Silence, finally.
We arrived at the house, unloaded some things. She looked at the frame of a kitchen. “Closets are needed,” she said. “There’s nowhere to put food.”
Me: ‘Have you seen your kitchen?’ His has a stained cork floor, is almost flooded, has no light, and has numerous pairs of jeans stuck to the radiators, like the bottom half of a 1970s Van der Graaf Generator rock concert.
Him: “I have more closets than you.”
I don’t understand why men have to be so combative and negative.
We drove to a pub for Sunday lunch, where he bagged the stool and left me sitting on a hard chair. I’ve paid. I was getting more and more nervous. That morning he helped me get the horses out. Unfortunately, when I let go of Swirly, like a balloon on the end of a piece of rope in a strong wind, she lunged at him. He was rooted to the spot for what seemed like hours.
-I cheat you? I asked, feigning concern. ‘She barely touched me. It was the walk through the mud that finished me off. She has trouble breathing; She has commendably quit smoking, but sucks on vapes like a kitten with a teat, only less endearing.
That night she continued using my Vincent Van Duysen porcelain plates and bowls for Zara. He said maliciously: “Who keeps cups in a drawer?” Good. ‘Yeah. And not even I have used my Zara badges,’ I snapped. He clattered down a fork and stormed off. I went to bed to stream Ripley, enjoying the murderous plot. I woke up the next morning, half expecting him to be gone. But no, it was taking a while.
He was in a hurry, waiting for the moving men to arrive to load the last important things. And she uttered the phrase that women around the world have come to fear: “I can’t find my iPhone.” Why do men always lose things? In Paris it was the gold-plated lighter that I gave him. At a hotel she left her clothes in a closet.
And now your phone. Cue the hours I spent searching in my car, under the cushions. He left without him, so I spent the rest of the day calling the pub where we had lunch, retracing our steps and catching him up.
I’m sorry for him. The next day she sent a text message (from his iPad): “Starting tomorrow I’ll start walking in the park.” But it’s too late.
I can’t support anyone else – it’s hard enough for me to take care of myself. He’s that strange mix: arrogant, but nothing to back it up. He is like a combustible gas: he floats harmlessly, but light a match and he explodes. Some friendships lift you up, others drain you. This is clearly the latter.
I have managed to move house. The most important thing is that I have moved on. Of the.
Jones moans… What Liz hates this week
- When a guest uses a towel, they hang it with others. Now I have to wash them all!
- When a guest asks you to watch The 1% Club contest so they can brag. I don’t watch TV before 6pm!
- When a guest uses your Carrara marble work surface to chop plums. They get stained!
- When a guest complains that their set of Conran Shop knives (never used) are dull. Use the knife sharpener!
Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and find it @lizjonesgoddess
