Discuss your relationship status, or if single, discuss that.
I’ve never liked talking about my romantic relationships regardless of whether they’re going well or poorly–they’re just mine. I like to keep the details to myself. It’s like emotional buried treasure, only sometimes it’s a chest of gold and sometimes it’s an IOU for a hug or coal. I realize that Santa brings coal, and pirates wouldn’t leave it in a treasure chest, but they might if they got it from Santa for pillaging or they’re crappy at trading. Maybe they want you to think it’s gold. Possibly it’s a joke about optimism and how uptight you are, like, “here ye go…make diamonds farrrrr me!” Pirates say “far” instead of for, fyi.
I think I’ll start saying, “When life gives you coal, make diamonds.” It’s a way of saying, “Make the best out of your situation” while simultaneously telling someone that they’re kind of a twat, so maybe shoving something up their butt will make them an entrepreneur. An EVIL one…
Update: Okay, Gizmodo’s 50 Debunked Science Misconceptions just proved that everything I learned about diamonds I learned from Ferris Bueller, as apparently diamonds pre-date coal. So, don’t start saying the above statement, because it’s incorrect…I won’t say it either.
Okay, back to relationships. This started when I was super young, and some grown up relative (NOT my maternal grandma, thank you!) told me I was “too young” to have a crush or a boyfriend, etc. Somewhere along the line, I decided that I would do what I wanted, and they just wouldn’t get any information from me. I wasn’t openly rebellious, but I was devious. I guess I’m the relationship information Soup Nazi or something.
The only boy I liked who returned my affection in elementary school was one kid, not that it mattered, because he moved within the school year, and I went back to being the girl with enormous rose-tinted glasses.
So for years, my parents combined genetics plus my questionable outfit choices resulted in my perpetual unpopularity with the desired sex. It also inhibited my popularity from time to time with girls. Modern Family talks about how for so many years, kids long to be popular, and then at some point, you just don’t give a flying fig anymore (I have only recently noticed this phenomenon dwindling…but just BARELY. The guys are still trying to figure this out). One day, I was wishing that cool kids liked me. The next, I was showing everyone that I’d eaten with my retainer in, how many stitches I’d gotten, and making them question my sanity on a daily or hourly basis. That point happened both after interacting with my first Mean Girls clique and again after I was tortured for being different. Okay, maybe I’m a little openly rebellious…
THEN I attended a new school where I was new, and that was worshiped (technically, that’s inaccurate, because it was a parochial school). Rephrase: I was some kind of demi-god or pixie who brought good luck. All the girls wanted to be my friends, and half of the guys wanted to date me. They just didn’t know me yet, I decided.
To say I had a crush on the dorkiest guy in our class is an ambiguous statement–there were only a handful of them and one of them was cool. Unless you ask the other girls from my class, in which case, two of them were cool. My crush was relatively popular (not to be confused with cool), because he was smart and super sarcastic. We broke up after a relatively short period, and it took me far too long to let him go. I even tried to do the math about how long you should grieve based on how long your relationship lasted. But he was good at math, I wasn’t, and we weren’t on speaking terms.
From that point, I had a series of high school escapades of revolving door boyfriends. This makes me sound loose, but basically, we’d agree we were dating, then hang out in regular situations that we considered dates, and then I’d freak out and break up with them within a week to a month. Or they would get sick of me.When I got really excited about a relationship, I wouldn’t want to tell anyone, because when I did, it always ended in a burning, flaming, crying mess. When I was unsure about the whole thing but had agreed primarily out of flattery, I’d hesitate telling people, because every day could be the day I’d break up with them. Meaning, I’d have to redact my statement. I never wanted to tell my parents, because I didn’t want them freaking out. I did enough of that for everyone, so it seemed silly to involve them. I wasn’t having sex, I was breaking hearts and letting other people break mine.
My family still gets all awkward when they ask about Parker. Probably because I don’t say a whole lot on the phone. Very little here actually changes other than the days or the seasons. Which is good from a low-maintenance, low drama standpoint. Every once in a while, I’ll share some little thing he did that made me happy, but I pretty much keep those things to myself. They’re my gold. Or…butt diamonds.
P.S. I told Parker about my pirate analogy, and he was thoroughly weirded out, and said something like, “Well, I’m glad I give you butt diamonds, but I really don’t see how that relates to this post.” I was too busy laughing to answer.