A List of My Faults & Yes, I'm Still with Biff

Over the last few days I had several conversations with friends that began with “So, uh, did you break it off with Biff?”

“Huh?” I said each time, truly perplexed.

“Well, I read your blog and it sure sounds like you broke up. You should read it.”

There’s something funny in there with a friend telling you to read the blog you just wrote. So I did read it. Oh. Okay. I see where you could infer that. No. I didn’t break it off. I was ready to. Internally, I had my car keys out and was making all the leaving noises I could: “That was fun. See ya later! Take care!” But then something stopped me. Two things, really. First I talked to Biff again. And secondly, I talked to myself.

I’m not like those circus people, you know half-man, half-woman…with one side looking like Diana Ross and the other just looking like a prepubescent teen with a bad mustache. I mean, I let myself get quiet and I figured out what I wanted. Did I want to give up on Biff because of a few things he said? No. I didn’t. I don’t. And why? Because he’s human. And so I am.

In an effort to be fair, all my blogs and experiences are from my perspective. And while I try to be honest, I haven’t been 100% honest, because who can do that? Here, then, is a list of my faults:

1)         I’m neurotic. I think Woody Allen actually vacations in my brain.

2)         I’m emotional and sensitive. Good things usually, but sometimes it gets me in trouble.

3)         I have Trust Issues. What this means is that I expect people to let me down. Childhood thing. So sometimes it’s easier to break something off first or get all cold and sort of force them to lose interest, than it is to risk getting hurt.

4)         I want to give up gluten because like 4 people in my family have issues with it. They gave it up and lost their belly fat. But every time I decide I’m going to give up gluten, I somehow drive to Kentucky Fried Chicken and eat chicken and biscuits and then have a side of biscuits and then I have biscuits for dessert. When I decide to eat gluten, I don’t want KFC or biscuits.

5)         I’m high maintenance. This is progress actually. I used to be low maintenance which means I did what everyone else wanted me to because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Now, when something doesn’t feel right, I say so.

6)         I’m honest. Is this a fault? It is when socially you’re supposed to keep something to yourself, but you just blurt out your emotions. An example of this is over a perfectly nice dinner telling your boyfriend “I don’t think this is working” simply because you sort of feel that way at that precise moment.

7)         I worry that I don’t know how to make the right decision on anything from choosing the right bra to the right partner in life. I’d really like someone to give me a rulebook. I’m great at rules.

8)         I’m creatively cocky. I like what I’m working on, I like the stuff I’m creating and if someone gives me grief about it, I get cranky.

9)         I’m cranky 80% of the time.

I’m not going to do a #10 because a redheaded vixen told me that 9 is a magical number.

So. No. I didn’t break it off with Biff. Before we made any big decisions, we decided to figure out just exactly how long we’ve been dating. “It was cold when we went out first, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“I’m pretty sure,” he said.

Silently, we counted the weeks together on the calendar. Huh. Six weeks. “That’s it?” I asked. “Feels like longer.”

“I know,” he said. We didn’t mean in a bad way, it just felt like we were more comfortable with each other than just at six weeks. “You really can’t have this serious of a freak-out right now,” he said.

“I can’t?”

“No. It’s too early. See?” He pointed to the calendar. I thought about that. It sort of made sense.

“When can I have a big freak-out, because I’ll tell you right now, I’ll have one.”

He didn’t even pause. He said: “Week sixteen.”

“I can have a big freak-out at week sixteen? Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” Biff said.

That made me smile. That and he mowed my lawn.

That’s not a euphemism people. He actually cut my grass.

Still sounds like a euphemism.

He tended my lawn with care? He trimmed my bushes?

Aw, fuck it.

He made me laugh is reason enough.