Tampons: The Newest Weapon In Relationships?
Chris had been dating this guy, who we shall refer to as Asshole, for about 2 1/2 years. Their semi-long-distance relationship (classified as such since they were about an hour drive away) hit a downward spiral when Asshole announced he'd been offered a job three hours away. They both realized it wasn't going to work since they already had problems with 1/3 of that distance but decided not to speak of it and enjoy the last few months they would get together. Unfortunately, Asshole seemed to have other ideas while Chris was trying desperately to preserve the relationship.
A few weeks ago, Asshole was supposed to come in town but never showed. She called, emailed, talked to his mother (yes, he still lives with his mother) but received no answers or callbacks. Chris figured it was over and took it surprisingly well. As we all do when a relationship is over, she made the decision to either glorify the time they had together and wish it never ended, or see the reality of her situation and be happy it was over. Chris, being the genius she is, cried for a day or two and was done with the pity-party. She was sad, but ultimately relieved because he'd saved her any lingering regret she may have had.
It seemed that Chris' only problem with the situation was that she still hadn't finished paying off the loan for his Xmas present and that he had stashed a tool she needed for work. She emailed one last time asking for the it back but again, the spineless toad did not reply.
Last week, while we were chatting about absolutely nothing in the way that chicks do, she was checking her mail and found a Fed-Ex package. When she realized it was from Asshole, she burst out laughing at the sheer cowardice of it. But she was also a little suspicious of the size of the package considering the tool she wanted back was relatively small and the package was the size of a shoebox. When she ripped open the package (with me holding my breath on the other end of the line) she found her tool...and a box of tampons she'd left at his house for emergencies. Needless to say, we laughed till we cried.
"What a fucking pussy," I screamed, scaring the guy in the car next to me.
"Who does that," Chris asked.
"A fucking pussy, obviously."
"Well, yeah. Obviously. Damn, he spent ten bucks to send me tampons."
"Hope they're worth it."
"Oh," She laughed, "they are so worth it."
"You should put them on a shelf with his name on it so you remember not to date fucking pussies."
"Good call."
With the exception of a chick night filled with drinking the last of Asshole's wine he'd left at her house, Chris was officially over it. There are few times you can say you are truly proud of your friends (especially mine), but I am happy to say that the night Chris was passed out on my couch with the last of the wine settling at the bottom of her glass, was one of those really proud moments.
PS Tampons are for fucking pussies. You're dead to us, Asshole.
A few weeks ago, Asshole was supposed to come in town but never showed. She called, emailed, talked to his mother (yes, he still lives with his mother) but received no answers or callbacks. Chris figured it was over and took it surprisingly well. As we all do when a relationship is over, she made the decision to either glorify the time they had together and wish it never ended, or see the reality of her situation and be happy it was over. Chris, being the genius she is, cried for a day or two and was done with the pity-party. She was sad, but ultimately relieved because he'd saved her any lingering regret she may have had.
It seemed that Chris' only problem with the situation was that she still hadn't finished paying off the loan for his Xmas present and that he had stashed a tool she needed for work. She emailed one last time asking for the it back but again, the spineless toad did not reply.
Last week, while we were chatting about absolutely nothing in the way that chicks do, she was checking her mail and found a Fed-Ex package. When she realized it was from Asshole, she burst out laughing at the sheer cowardice of it. But she was also a little suspicious of the size of the package considering the tool she wanted back was relatively small and the package was the size of a shoebox. When she ripped open the package (with me holding my breath on the other end of the line) she found her tool...and a box of tampons she'd left at his house for emergencies. Needless to say, we laughed till we cried.
"What a fucking pussy," I screamed, scaring the guy in the car next to me.
"Who does that," Chris asked.
"A fucking pussy, obviously."
"Well, yeah. Obviously. Damn, he spent ten bucks to send me tampons."
"Hope they're worth it."
"Oh," She laughed, "they are so worth it."
"You should put them on a shelf with his name on it so you remember not to date fucking pussies."
"Good call."
With the exception of a chick night filled with drinking the last of Asshole's wine he'd left at her house, Chris was officially over it. There are few times you can say you are truly proud of your friends (especially mine), but I am happy to say that the night Chris was passed out on my couch with the last of the wine settling at the bottom of her glass, was one of those really proud moments.
PS Tampons are for fucking pussies. You're dead to us, Asshole.
Labels: All things Vagina
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on 20.5.06 at 6:13 PM.
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