The worst boyfriend in the world was, for a good long while, an alcoholic. Not the oh, I tied one on with the fellas and said a lot of stupid shit variety. We’re talking the serious and scary, need-a-glass-of-vodka-first-thing-in-the-morning-or-I-will-throw-up-from-withdrawal kind. Strangely enough, it wasn’t the alcoholism that made him a shitty boyfriend (though it didn’t help), it just happened to exacerbate all the qualities that did.
Such as: sloppy sneakiness!
For example, during year one of co-habitation, he called me at work around 3 p.m. on a Friday to tell me that something terribly urgent was calling him out of town. It was a semi-plausible reason, in fact, involving complicated real estate transactions on a previous residence out of town.
Him: “Yeah… I just have to go right now.”
Me: “But why now? And if you wait three more hours, I’ll be off work and I can go with you.”
Him: “Um… well, I have to get there before dark so I can meet this guy about this other thing? So I can’t wait till you are done, I really just need to go right now.”
Me: “Um… okay? Call me later.”
That evening when I got home and woke up my computer, the Port Authority bus schedule to the Foxwoods Casino was still up on the screen. Sigh. I called his cell phone.
Him: (Cheery and bright.) “Hi!”
Me: “Hi.” (Long pause.) “Are you at Foxwoods?”
Him: (Longer pause.) “How did you know?”
Me: “You left the bus schedule up on the computer, Slick.”
Him: “Were you spying on me?”
Me: “What? No! You left it up on my computer!
Him: “I can’t believe you.” (Hangs up.)
He lost his glasses and two thousand dollars that night and slept in the bus station. I had to drive five hours to retrieve him-with a stop-over at the emergency room for fluids. We were together another four years.
Evelyn Everlady is the pen name of a young woman residing in New York who, for obvious reasons, wishes to retain her anonymity. She is quite aware that dating this person doesn’t exactly reflect well on her either.
Previously: Installment One.