Mia: Shaken Not Stirred


The true life stories of a NYC female.

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Why don’t you like my boyfriend?


As a teen my mother once said something to me that took root in my heart and became my personal mantra “Real friends tell you what you need to hear, not just want you want to hear.” To be anything but honest with my friends makes my stomach knot up and I get a killer headache. However I have come to the realization that not all of my friends can handle my honesty and sometimes for the sake of peace I’ve just got to let it go even if it ends with me downing some prescription strength ibuprofen .


--Why don’t you like my boyfriend?

I pinch the bridge of my nose in between my fingers. Ach! Shit. She knows. I thought I had been pretty good about hiding it. Fuck. Who the hell am I kidding? I’ve never been good at hiding crap.

--Mia?

-What?

--Why don’t you like my boyfriend?

The list is endless grasshopper. Let’s see can it be because of his control issues with women? Is it because he degrades you in the bedroom? Can it be because I caught him checking out my little sister like she was an all you can eat buffet and he was starving, not once, not twice but three times while you stood a few feet away? Or is it because you told me that he gets off on over powering you and choking you during sex? Never tell a forensic psych major shit like that about your man, it will never be erased from the mind. Never. I told you that what he does to you in the bedroom is a sign of trouble you laughed it off. Fine I don’t know what I’m talking about, it’s not like I’ve been studying deviant behavior for 7 years now. I don’t like him because I worry about you.

She stared at me waiting for an answer. I shrugged my shoulders as I continued looking for a shirt in my closet. I gave her the answer weeks ago she just doesn’t want to accept it.

-I don’t know him well enough to form an opinion of him. Besides you know me. No one is going to be good enough for you.

I hold up a white t-shirt for her approval

-What do you think of this one?

--Oh that’s nice! I’m not allowed to wear white shirts no more.

-Huh?

--He says my boobs are big so I can’t wear white anymore.

My hand goes over my mouth. The list of what she is allowed to do and what she isn’t is growing. He’s already started taking control over the little things in her life. Silly girl equates this with love. Shut up Mia, shut up. Take a deep breath.

-Your cup size is like a whole bunch of D’s right?

She nods her head

-Hmm and wearing any other color but white is magically going to shrink them? I’ve got news for you babe they look just as big in black as they do in white.


--Mia I want you to like him!

and I’d love to grow at least half a foot taller but that ain’t happening.

-My opinion isn’t important here. All that matters is your opinion of him.


--I love you Mia. You’re opinion matters to me!

Oh really? Here's one for you; you allow men to treat you like snot filled tissue. While i'm at it here's another opinion you need to stop settling and love yourself more. You've got alot to offer.

I rubbed the back of my neck I feel a headache coming on. It’s going to be a beauty, so huge a sledge hammer can only improve it. Shoot me, please.

-I love you too but this isn’t any of my business. Do you.

--Mia!

-What? Come on let’s be real. You’re going to do what you want to do anyway no matter how I feel, true yes?

--True.

-True to the oo. So why should it matter what I think? Seriously.

--I want you to get to know him. I really want you to like him.

Like I said and I want to be taller. Wanna be a -- baller, shot caller
Twenty inch blades -- on the Impala ...A caller gettin laid tonight
Swisher rolled tight, gotta sprayed by Ike ...I hit the HIIIGHWAY, making money the FLYYYY WAY ...But there's got to be a BETT-ER WAYY!A better way, better way, YEAH-AHHHH... Oh snap I took it old school! Crap now that song is going to stay stuck in my head.


I force myself to smile.

-I know.

--How about we all hang out together?

-Okay we’ll plan something for next weekend.

She smiled, I’d made her happy. I shook my head.

My boy friend can do guard duty, protect your lover from me since you insist on tempting the hand of fate. I so see myself getting into it with him. It’s there on the surface. Trust me I feel it coming.


By the time she left the migraine had started a wicked drum solo behind my left eye one to rival the talents of John Bonham and Neil Pert combined. My stomach was so twisted I felt the need to hurl. I took a deep breath and reached for the 850 mg Ibuprofen.







Labels:





Posted by @ 9:05 AM
2 comment from: Anonymous frum, Anonymous Steph,