About 3 months ago I met this guy who, surprisingly, did not seem like a jerk. Said guy, let’s call him HBD (Hot Black Dude), was polite and funny and interesting. Did I mention he was hot? As in I-would-like-rip-your-clothes-off hot? HBD was a couple of years older than me and, thank god, NOT a student. And, get this, he owned a house. And not a crappy, the-ceiling-will-collapse-during-my-sleep house. He owned an actual house, with a real kitchen and even art (the affordable kind) on the walls!
So we started dating and all was blissful in my head. I got to see him every week and stay over, I met his friends, we had a lot of sex AND there was a toothbrush, just for me, in his bathroom. Now, this toothbrush thing might not be a big deal for most, but for anyone who grew up with the song “Πάρε πάσα μου, την οδοντοβουρτσά μου...” this IS a huge deal! But then again, I’m willing to accept that not everyone knows the song.
We even went to a wedding together! HBD made sure to tell me that going to a wedding together, after a month of dating, did not mean that we were getting married. Because, obviously, this is exactly what I was thinking. I mean what else could I expect after accompanying a man, whom I knew for a month, to wedding other than a Tiffany’s princess-cut diamond ring in my chocolate croissant the next morning and a promise to spend our lives together? Did I mention that we were only dating for a month?
According to my research all the good signs were there. And despite the fact that I desperately wanted, I managed to not bring up male-sensitive subjects such as feelings, relationships, being exclusive, etc. I was playing cool and I even accepted that Sundays were out of limits because they were devoted to football.
Until all of a sudden HBD became way too busy and we went from seeing each other every week to not having seen each other in a month (33 days, 7 hours and 12 minutes to be exact)! There were some phone calls with attempts on his part to justify his disappearance. And, because of my emotional stupidity mentioned before, I attributed his behavior to a male case of PMS. I thought about sending him a box of Midol together with some chocolate and a Hugh Grant movie (because we all know that there is nothing that the combination of those 3 cannot cure) but then I didn’t want to offend his manliness so I just practiced being patient (again, not one of my strongest points). Which brings me to this past Saturday when we finally made plans to meet.
The moment we set up a time I panicked because I realized that not having seen him in a month (meaning I didn’t need to get naked in front of anyone else other than myself) in combination with a bad case of a “grad student life crisis” meant that I was in desperate need of waxing (whole body that is…), eyebrow plugging, face scrubbing, finger and toe-nail painting, and hair-fixing. And so I spent the next 3 hours in a frenzy trying to make myself presentable to someone other than my fellow grad students who couldn’t care less whether I had a unibrow or not. I spent at least an hour waxing my legs during which I used every combination of Greek and English swear word I know. Try to reach the back of your thighs while they are covered in a sticky, honey-like substance and not make a mess…you’ll understand. And just to be clear; I don’t shave not because I like torturing myself (men take care of that business for me) but due to heritage issues if I shave in the morning I get a 5 o clock shadow by the afternoon! Then I proceeded to use my tweezers extensively so that there were 2 separate eyebrows, of the same shape, above my eyes. I showered, I applied multiple layers of body lotion and a face-mask and I painted my nails.
So I’m laying in bed, in my bath robe, and I’m trying to catch my breath because I feel like I just ran a marathon. My face, white because of the mask, is starting to burn but I’m willing to suffer. My nails are a lovely shade of purple and I’m doing my best to stay still and not touch anything while they dry. The only thing that’s missing are 2 cucumber slices for my eyes but I only had tomatoes in the fridge and I don’t think they would do!
And all of a sudden my phone beeps. Note that there is a limited number of people that could be texting me at 6.30 on a Saturday night. And one of them is HBD. So I take my phone and as expected I have a text from him. I put an enormous effort to unlock my phone and read the text without covering the screen with nail polish.
HMD: “I’m feeling unwell, sorry, let’s meet tomorrow. I’m willing to sacrifice football.”
Stelou: [in my head] I’M FEELING UNWELL TOO BECAUSE I SPENT 2 HOURS DE-HAIRING MYSELF SO THAT I WOULD LOOK LIKE A HUMAN BEING! AND WHAT ABOUT ME SACRIFICING BRAIN-CELLS EVERY TIME I GET A STUPID TEXT FROM YOU???
Despite the urge to throw the phone out of my window I didn’t because iPhones are expensive and as a grad student I could not afford another one. Instead I spent the night with Ben and Jerry (the ice cream, not 2 random men that I picked up from the street even though that might have been a better idea) while watching Billy Elliot and crying my eyes out.
At least my nails are still a lovely shade of purple…
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