Love Story
June 10, 2012 § 34 Comments
My old boyfriend was a man of few words. As time went on, the words got fewer. When he mentioned we were out of bread, that would use up a quarter of his quotient of words for the day and I would curse the bread for hogging that precious monosyllabic real estate.
Finally, out of loneliness, I began replying to myself in a high-pitched voice, kind of a castrato Kermit the Frog with shades of Babe.
Looking back, it may have been obnoxious.
Scene: We are driving. Old Boyfriend is at the wheel.
Me: My presentation went pretty well today.
OB: Silence
Me: (High Voice) That’s fascinating, Kathy. Tell me more.
OB: Irritated Silence.
I thought it was a brilliant idea, outsourcing my conversation partner not to India but to me, even cheaper. As the time passed, the inevitable happened. Slowly but surely, I fell in love with myself. So interested in my inner life, so easy to talk to, so darn engaged was I, how could he compete with my me in shining armor?
Gradually, he began to catch me talking to myself, secretive conversations, stolen pillow talk at 3 AM.
Me: Why don’t rats have fluffy tails? Then people would hate them less.
Me (High Voice) What a fascinating thought. You are so sensitive about our animal friends. Tell me more.
OB: Who are you talking to?
Me (High Voice) No –
Me: No one.
OB: Irritated silence.
Me: I think we’re out of bread.
Finally he’d had enough of me and me. Our superimposed love story bored and threatened him. Half his words became sighs and hand signals.
Then one day, using up his quotient until mid afternoon, he said it.
OB: You’re not funny.
Me: I know.
OB: You’re always talking to yourself in that stupid voice.
Me: It’s my friend.
OB: It’s more than a friend.
Me: She really listens to me.
Me: (High Voice) I do!
OB: Fine. You can have yourself.
And so I did. Have myself. Rode off with myself into the sunset, top down, cash in a suitcase in the trunk.
Me: I think we’re out of bread.
Me: (High voice) Damn you’re funny.
Me: I love you.
Me (High voice) I love you, too.
Fingers entwined in mine, Thelma-and-Louise style as we went over that cliff into a world of our own.
Kathy Hepinstall's Blog 
God I love you!!!…God I hate you!!!
Only you can generate such violent, apposing, emotional forces. Your magic turns a hurricane and lazy sunny afternoon into one in the same….
I #humbled
I have just been thinking about you, dear Jockey. Where are you? What are you doing? When will you next appear on my couch?
Well, I guess you have indeed found the perfect love. I knew she was with you all. Gosh Kathy, you never cease to put a smile on my face and a chuckle in my heart.
And my mom is always talking about seeing you and your fabulous husband in church!
I meant all along…should have proof read.
Beautiful. Seriously gorgeous. Once again you make me want to write like you, and you. And since I know the ex-boyfriend, the sighs and hand gestures, can I say you gave him too much credit for actual word count?
Dearest Champy
I love it when your voice ambushes me out of the blue. I thought I was going to get to see you this weekend. Perhaps next week?
You should have your own show.
As should you, Daniel. With a soundtrack of Harmonicas and a slide guitar.
You have given me food for thought, and I’d have to say that Mother Nature purposely gave rats those tails. It’s so that we don’t have to feel bad when we feed them d-Con and they slowly decompose in our apartment wall. Because at least we don’t have to endure looking at that disgusting tail now.
Ah well I guess that is where our sentiments diverge, my friend. Where as you see a rat, I see a lamb that was not born fortunate enough to be cute or stay out of people’s walls or not be chosen for an unwitting lead role in the Black Plague.
I would say that if I ever knew a rat I’d love it enough to name it. My mother might lovingly engrave its name on a bullet.
Our sentiments diverged on the whole talking-man oxymoron. The entire romance seemed just ducky to me until the bit where he had enough words to say you weren’t funny. You might try an engineer next go, they’d never have that many words to spare – and even if one did – he wouldn’t tell you anything unless you asked him directly. And he certainly would never interrupt you while you were busy talking to you. Though I don’t think they know much about oragami.
Kathy, I always knew we were kindred souls! I have had this same experience many times. I too, talk to myself saying something like; “Might as well talk to a wall!” I scold myself every time I ask a question…I know there will be no answer. I don’t even get a shrug or a sigh! My homework everyday is “I will not ask any questions,” written 100 times in my journal. I’ll let you know if it works!
Can you get Zephyr to give him a swift kick or two?
The best compliment I know these days is to repost something on FB cause it’s so good.
I always tell sponsees the reasons we don’t recommend relationships in the first year is because you just got divorced from the bottle or the baggie, and you need to learn how to be in the one marriage that will last a lifetime — the one with yourself.
It’s by far my most successful relationship. I always like what I have to say, practice excellent remote control control, and never mind my breath. Oh, and my orgasm always comes exactly when I want it to. What’s not to love?
Mom if you’re reading this, Mark may have made a typo:
*Oh, and my origami always comes exactly when I want it to.*
She right, Polly! Damn that dyslexia of mine! (Did you know that Tsunami is an anagram of “I am nuts?”)
Ah, Mark, it’s no use. I’m the idiot who rented Monster’s Ball for us to watch. She lasted 45 minutes before mumbling: “One time I had to separate two goats with a garden hose,” and fleeing the room in tears.
Loved this story, Kathy! And besides, I can relate. I’m a really good friend to myself.
Sometimes you have to be, Melissa. 🙂
He was probably stumped by your beauty and brilliance my friend.
Thank you, Stef-sister. You always knew just what to say.
I had a husband like the man you describe. I wish your coping mechanism had occurred to me, as it would have brought that festering mess to a head so much sooner. To tell you how well you write is so unoriginal but I’m doing it anyhow. Also, I love that you answer all your fan mail.
It’s not so much fans as friend mail. I love it when you guys write in. I did not know this about you and your husband. Who would not appreciate your turns of phrase? Hope to get to Austin soon…
Kathy my love,
I am sure he knew he could never compete with your eloquence and therefore was struck dumb. BTW, reading the comments are about as entertaining as your post. xo
Judy, I like your theory. Are you going to be on the West Coast anytime soon?
Okay, but what happens when your self needs some space and wants to “go on a break?’
One couple’s retreat should fix that right up, Scott.
Your story IS funny – it brings out all those painful missed connections people make or don’t make and turns those difficult moments into a super funny empowered way of working with them and suddenly everyone who has suffered in this sort of relationship wants to chat about it! It’s excellent, funny, helpful and enjoyable material – make it a semi-autographical not entirely fiction book and I bet even Oprah would have a hard time not noticing the effects. (high voice) Book it! PLEASE! ; ) love ya, xoxo
Thanks, Sara. I miss you and when I see you we will exchange greetings in our high voices.
Maybe OB (which I translate to Oblivious Bastard) should become a tour guide for the Portland Underground?
I laughed out loud at that one. First your interpretation of the name, then the memory of us underground trapped with that terrible woman.
This man is crazy. You are phenomenal. Wish I could fix you up with my brother.
Thank you Stephanie! If I didn’t have a boyfriend I’d take you up on that 🙂