Does everyone look back on their past romances and hate their track record?
Or do some women really just have a knack for the bad guys?- by “bad” I am not referring to the sexy, rebellious type of guy oh no, I am talking about the utterly crap, generally bad boyfriend sort.
Well, I fall in the later category.
Mr 1) was something short of a psycho. He was completely devoted to me. My 15 year old self was flattered by this unwavering adoration but it wasn’t long before it turned creepy. He would send me collages of photos of my face that he had collected over the years from MySpace, pictures he had taken and ones I had sent him. He also threatened to kill himself: at first it was after every big argument and then it became more and more frequent. This guy was the weirdo who long after we finished the relationship would send me text messages and ring me ten times a day. So yes, the psyhco.
Mr 2) was the only guy I think back fondly of. He was for all intents and purposes perfect until he went to university and lived so far away that our “relationship” became phone and Internet based. We were smitten; could do no wrong in one another’s eyes. But it finished abruptly. One day he stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped emailing and finally deleted me off Facebook. We had no argument. We hadn’t drifted. It just ended. I assumed he had slept with someone and felt guilty or maybe realised he liked someone else- I don’t like to imagine. This guy is Mr unfinished business.
Mr 3) was sex crazed. Unbelievably good looking. Incredibly smart. Hilariously witty. On paper he was perfect except his penis ruled his life. I have never known of anybody so sex obsessed. At first it was fun- such fun! But it grew tiresome and quickly. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the stamina; physically it was great but it reached a point where we could barely converse without it turning sexual. So the end was nigh. The sex obsessed.
Mr 4) was socially and emotionally inept. He was nice I suppose probably an extended rebound who I took under my wing. He hated meals out because he felt “under pressure” to make conversation. He declined work drinks because he didn’t know how to socialise. He couldn’t open up and he couldn’t empathise when relatives of mine were in hospital when one even died. We simply were not reading from the same hymn sheet: I am quite the social butterfly: given the chance he is a social recluse. The socially and emotionally awkward.
Where is the continuum in this list of failed romances? It’s not Mr 1, 2, 3 or 4. It’s me. Bad choice? Bad luck? Bad timing?
Do all romances begin with the honeymoon the period when everyone is happy when nobody can do wrong. Then, slowly and surely things disintegrate and that is when flaws emerge? Is that how it works?
I really don’t know. But boy, I’d love to find out before I meet Mr 5. That, or I will become a lesbian.