…And the errant kiss…
Hello Dear Readers! Who among you has felt the cruel sting of jealousy? Perhaps you’ve tried to insidiously inspire some of your own? After waking up nude and confused last time, I’m giving the body a break this week and focusing on my shattered disco-ball of a mind instead. Settle in, pour yourself a G&T and get ready to covet thy neighbours ox with me kids.
So why envy? Astute readers will notice I’ve never mentioned it before, although it could be argued that most of my escapades aren’t something you’d be envious over (I’m looking at you, Noodle Dick). I was out drinking with Brad (the virgin boy wonder) when he managed to do something interesting…
It had begun like any usual night, I was at home crying off my mascara (applied purely for dramatic effect) whilst questioning my life choices. Brad messaged me about meeting him for drinks, the subtext being “I’m drunk enough to actually make a move”. Shamefully, since he asked me to… ‘enter his temple of doom’, to put it politely, I’ve been slightly put off him. This sounds doubly terrible because to outside observation, it looks like I’ve waited till Brad was most vulnerable to reject him. Despite appearances, I’m not one to lure mermaids into my den with the promise of legs, only to re-enact Misery with them later. Brad wanted to hurdle the virginal Everest and seeing him sprawled on my bed made me realise I’m not his sherpa. It requires emotional (and if it’s really bad, physical) aftercare and I don’t even water my petrified cactus. Luckily for Brad’s virginity but unfortunately for his psyche, I’m easily lead astray by the promise of drinks with a side order of ‘life experiences’, here meaning shameless flirting. I put on a casual ‘come fuck me’ outfit and left to meet my Knight in shining mediocrity.
I was greeted by Brad, his gaggle of geeky friends and an empty glass. Using vodka to fuel my capacity to give a shit about the conversation, I began listening to the intricacies of League of Legends.
After a good hour of meditating to the drone of ‘damage per second’ chatter, Brad left me with his friends to grab a drink. Before I could excuse myself for a cigarette, one of them grabbed me with a steely grip stronger than halloumi’s power to tempt me.
“I just want to make sure you’re a nice guy, Brad’s a nice guy and we’re very protective of him.” Said the boy who would later punch him, protectively of course…
I was unsure how to answer, not due to any unkindness but because his friends clearly thought I wanted a relationship. To clarify, currently I’m just as attached to my hamster as I am to Brad, that hamster is dead. I’m not callous to the deceased and Brad is a great guy, he just isn’t a great dating prospect. Being recently reborn into a new sexuality I fully expect Brad to mine this new vein of experiences, I’m just an untrustworthy pickaxe who likes cocktails. This arrangement is peachy with me, having a sexually charged gamer boyfriend is only fun when your body can still handle discount vodka and you have the emotional maturity of an iguana (living or dead).
The McCarty-esque interrogation of my character would have carried more weight if I couldn’t literally see Brad making out with someone else in front of me. Though the hazy windows into the smoking area, I spotted him inspecting the tonsils of another guy. Maybe I have the wrong idea about what a “good guy” is. If the only measure is polygamous french kissing, then I’m Mary mother-fucking Teresa. Calmly finishing the unsettling questionnaire I resolved not to mention anything, we’re not together, I’m not attached and Brad clearly didn’t expect to be staying at mine.
Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned yet I was neither, Brad came back and I acted like nothing had happened. Admittedly I didn’t expect him to play the field whilst I was stood in it, but logically there was no better response. Anger would have been useless, I was having a fun time and turning into a Mini-Hulk is frightfully unattractive. No, the best defence to my ego was remaining irreverent and falling back on my one true love, smoking and bad nineties music. After dancing to Bewitched with an enthusiasm naturally found in insane asylums, Brad tore me away to talk. I begrudgingly sat down and sparks filled my eyes, I was going to need nicotine if I was going to miss The Darkness.
“I just wanted to apologise for earlier, I didn’t mean for you to see that.” Brad began.
“See what?” Being flippant is my superpower, well that and somehow living after what I can only assume is a tiny Chernobyl inside my lungs.
“Oh, earlier when I… Kissed [Insert any name guys, two things I never remember the are competition’s names and the fifth tequila shot] in the smoking area.”
“Oh, that?” I coyly replied. “You’re newly out and young, I never thought you’d stick with one guy, it’s absolutely fine!”
“Actually, I kind of did it to get your attention (so you did want me to see it, liar), you’ve been talking to so many people tonight (you’re friends *eyeroll*)…”
This awkward conversation dragged it’s way to the coffin so I won’t give you the full blow by blow, the takeaway point is Brad tried to make me jealous (finally something that relates to the title). I swallowed my ricin ball of anger and accepted the kiss for what it was, a compliment. You may think I’m just so narcissistic that I twisted a guy making out with someone else into a positive (you’d be right about the vanity), but let me explain my thinking. Jealousy is just the trapeze dress we use to cover a fat body of emotions, there are different types which stem from different issues. I’ll cover the three that I think are important and you guys can buzz in when you spot Brad’s ill-fated attempt to get my attention.
1: Envy for what you do not have (but think you deserve).
This is most common among serial cheater and easy to explain, this is jealousy for other people’s partners that comes from a deep dissatisfaction with your own. The afflicted are convinced they can do better yet simultaneously too insecure to actually break-up. It’s a catch-22 which lacks any of the emotional depth the book provides, these are tremendous flirts hiding a fragile fear of being alone. Though interesting this doesn’t explain Brad’s behaviour so let’s move on to…
2: Converting what you want but don’t think you can get.
Where the first type of jealousy is born through the belief that you’re better than what you have, people who are envious of the provable ‘guy who gets the girl’ feel the opposite. These are kids with little self-esteem who can’t believe others will see the beauty lurking behind the cat obsession. Personally I find this endearing, little birds who are too afraid to fly the coup out of fear the ground will slap them with a restraining order. People like this can be in relationships but the crazy will still be partying in their mind, they’ll exhibit strange behaviour or become possessive over their partners. I think this is why Brad acted so weirdly when I met him for drinks, his kiss had insecurity splattered all over it like poor reviews on a transformers movie. It could have worked if he was dealing with someone less ‘confident’ (pathologically conceited, be honest Sam) but I’m don’t view him as a relationship equal or option. If anything his actions reminded me that Brad is still too immature to see me as myself, I don’t have room in my bed for his insecurities and all of mine too (it’s pandora’s box minus the hope guys).
3: Fear that you can’t live up to your own expectations.
I know we’ve already covered Brad’s issues but I feel like this is important to add as this is the only true jealousy I’ve experienced. I’ve never worried my partners will leave me or desperately wanted to swap lives with my single friends, I do crave other people’s success though. Like an angry witch, I’ll curl over a brewing cauldron of hate whenever people do better than me, not out of spite but out of hollow shame at myself. Obviously, I won’t key a car every time someone gets an ounce of joy but it’s a problem I have to hide, no one perfect right? Hopefully, in time I’ll have the self-centered calm that Mathew McConaughey undeservedly enjoys, at twenty-five I’m still allowed to be imperfect before I meet my beloved.
What did we learn this week folks, don’t win the lottery in front of me unless you’re ready for a fight? With any luck, I’ve provided some insight as to why Betty in HR keeps putting sugar in your coffee even though you specifically said you’re on a diet. Next time someone acts weirdly, take a second to wonder what is driving the clump of jelly masquerading as the peak of intelligence inside their head.
Cigarettes: Despite being closely linked with men trying to manipulate my emotions, I haven’t given up loving them.
Dates: None, I’m going on a hen weekend and fully intend of having a Butlins Boyfriend, if I don’t leave with a red coat of shame then I won’t leave at all.
Exercise: Eludes me…