Sunday, 9 March 2008


PJ and I got into it this morning.

He didn't come by last night, didn't call, and this morning I called him to see how his night went. He was just getting in. He started to give me a play by play of his evening, relaying his side of the conversation, telling his date about hanging out with the kids and with Butterfield and some of our trips to the farm. I stopped him twice, somewhat incredulous that he would spend the better part of a first date monopolizing the conversation with tales of another girl. Halfway through the date he lost interest when she predictably failed to be cool with all of what he managed to lay out for her.

I told him he was an idiot and that if he wanted a steady girlfriend, he should learn to let the girl he is with lead the conversation and for the sake of all that is holy, not bring up close friends who are girls. He dared me not to be the pot calling the kettle black, because who the fuck was I to be giving relationship advice? It was Bridget for the win because it's probably the only time I can be proud to rattle off consecutive relationships without a breath in between and not be ashamed of it, because he has had trouble finding girlfriends over the years. PJ asked me not to confuse being a whore to my friends with finding a soulmate.


He then said he slept with her anyway and when she was face down he pretended she was me.

Oh, he's uncharacteristically good at the hurt when he wants to be. He melts down all over me about once a year or less, he usually has his shit together better than anyone.

I didn't say anything and after about five minutes of angry silence, since we won't hang up on each other, he said he was sorry. That he felt stupid enough for the way he had behaved and I asked him if he was apologizing to the right person. He paused significantly and agreed to attempt to make it up to her.

Then he asked if he could make it up to me. I cut him off with a gentle observation that I think we're even. He said softly that he hates the rare arguments and that he didn't mean it. I said I knew and if he wanted to come by later this evening I would have some strawberry jam for him to take home. He loves the jam I make. I could hear him grin through the phone and he gently chided me for being too easy to forgive, too easy on him.

He would be wrong. It doesn't come easily but I try anyway because he is right, who am I to give directions when I'm more lost than everyone else?