One time I was hanging out at Steve’s apartment and, as we were parting ways, I slipped on a fake mustache. I have no clue where I got it from or why I had it, but I thought it would be funny to say goodbye wearing it.
Well, Steve kissed me goodbye despite the ‘stache, which I thought was a very cute thing to do. Later, we were texting while I was hanging out with some girl friends, and I jokingly called him “homo” for kissing me while wearing a mustache. I didn’t mean anything by it, I had actually thought it was super cute when he did it. I was just joking around.
Well, let me tell you what. Steve got pissed. I’m not a politically correct person – I try. Sort of. But obviously I fail. Steve was always getting offended by things I said. And almost none of them were even directed at him – except this time. Apparently I’m a horribly offensive person. Steve will tell you, for sure.
So, Steve was pissed at me. And I had no clue what to do because I thought it was just playful banter, on my end. We text-fought (which is the worst kind because you can never tell tone via texting) and he said how dare I make jokes about his sexuality when I have none of my own (read: you’re a virgin so don’t call me homo). At that time, that was the meanest thing anyone had ever said to me. (Steve was the one to say more mean things to me in the future- he was a little verbally abusive.) Steve fights dirty. I know that I did really dumb things when we were seeing each other – he was the first guy I ever “went out with,” he was the first guy I ever kissed. I was learning everything with him. I made a lot of mistakes. But they were missteps. Nothing was intentional. His mean words were always very deliberate and he used your insecurities and things you didn’t like about yourself to really hurt you. I should say “me.” He seemed to have a very successful relationship with a coworker of ours after we parted ways for good.
Anyway, either as a make-up gesture for this particular fight, or another one (we fought ALL. THE. TIME.) I dropped off a bouquet of Blow Pops on his doorstep with a note saying (again in good fun) “Sorry these aren’t blow jobs.” And I pissed him off again! Because I joked about sex! Which I wasn’t having with him! (And he was also never my boyfriend, so why should I sleep with him? Hello!)
Man, I’d forgotten just how messed up that experience was. No wonder I can’t seem to have a functional relationship with a guy. Haha. I learned some crappy dating lessons from Steve. Like “don’t be yourself.” And “never joke about anything.” Steve was the worst.