When I was 19, I started dating a 27 year old. I’ve written about her before, so go back to the archives if she sounds interesting.
On my blog, I’ve always referred to her as Ms. Right, because that’s what she always called herself. Ms. Right and I had a very volatile relationship. We were that couple that would have knock-down-drag-out fights followed by mushy makeups. Rinse, repeat. There was no in between with her, we were either fighting or we were being sickly romantic and mushy. It’s probably a testament to how immature we both were at the time.
She was a CPA, I was a college student working nights (4:30 PM to 3:00 AM). She would frequently pick me up for my 8 PM lunch, we’d go somewhere and be mushy. When the weather was bad, she’s come down at 3:00 AM and start my car and scrape the windows. Then in the morning when it was time for her to work, I’d go out and scrape her windows. It made no sense at all, since she should have been sleeping at 3 AM and I should have been sleeping at 8 AM, but that’s just how it was.
Ms. Right lived with her younger sister, Ms. Hyperslut, who had a propensity for wandering around the apartment naked. It always struck me as odd that Ms. Right didn’t care her sister was acting like that in front of me. Apparently I wasn’t special, Ms. Hyperslut did that in front of EVERYONE.
Ms. Right also liked to drink. When I was working, she and Ms. Hyperslut would get hyper drunk at the apartment nearly every day. Ms. Hyperslut was VERY fun (combining a nudist with alcohol is always entertaining) when she drank. Ms. Right, on the other hand, became a raging psychopath.
One night, about 1 AM, I was at work and got a phone call from Ms. Right. She was obviously very very drunk, and almost unintelligible. But I could tell she was angry. She was screaming and slurring about what an awful jerk I was, and when I tried to respond, she hung up on me. I tried to call back and she ignored the call.
Now, any friend of mine will tell you I’m slow to anger and abounding in love (that’s a God reference in case you’re wondering). I have almost boundless patience with the most awful people on Earth. I’ve only really lost my temper 3 or 4 times in my life (really)… and this was one of them. There’s something about being hung up on that sends me into a rage every single time. It’s such a cowardly, passive aggressive thing to do, it’s automatic. This time was no exception.
I tried calling another time, and she ignored it, so I left her a message about how nobody hangs up on me blah blah blah.
I literally grabbed my stuff and left work that second. I sped to the apartment. She had propped a chair behind the door because she got my message and knew I was ticked. (And because she was psycho and assumed I’d beat her up.) I tried opening the door a couple of times, and it wouldn’t budge. So naturally, I kicked it in. It broke the door jam and ripped the doorknob off, but that wasn’t the end of it.
When I got into the apartment, Ms. Hyperslut was sitting on the couch giggling, and Ms. Right had locked herself in her room.
I didn’t even bother to knock on the bedroom door, I went straight to kicking it in. Of course, the door jam splintered and the door (which was hollow) split open. I went into the bedroom and Ms. Right was cowering in the bed. In classic 19 year old form, I gave her the “naughty girl finger shake” and said “Don’t EVER hand up on me again.”
Then I left and went back to work.
The next day, Ms. Right started calling me, and I ignored her. She called me about 50 times a day for the next 2 weeks, and I continued to ignore her. After a couple weeks of punishment, I decided to get over it, and I went to her apartment. She’d paid to have the doors fixed so the apartment people wouldn’t find out. 🙂 Ms. Hyperslut had egged it on my telling Ms. Right I’d told her I never wanted to see her again. Ms. Right had been too drunk to remember anything.
A few years later, another girl (she was a semi-girlfriend… we acted like we were dating but told everyone we weren’t) hung up on me. By that time, I’d learned that kicking in doors could get you arrested, so naturally I responded by throwing my phone off the pavement. That one was a little more expensive, but it lacked the dramatic flair of the door kicking incident.
Ms. Right and I didn’t ultimately work out, in part because she was a drunk raging psychopath (and is now a lesbian… go figure). However, the dramatic nature of the relationship taught me that I didn’t want to have a relationship with drama, which was a lesson well worth learning.