a few years back

cat waterTony initially takes our break-up wonderfully.

“The way I see it,” he tells me, “you’re allergic to commitment. You’ve always lauded me as being a well-endowed man of swagger and wit. So clearly this has nothing to do with me.”

I nod. This version of the story is as good as, if not better than, any other I might have written for him.

Mostly I’m just relieved he’s not crying, as he had warned me he might do.

“Let’s take a person with an allergy to cats, as a for instance,” he continues. “That person might love and respect and admire cats, and wish she could have a cat sleep next to her every night, but she was born with a genetic deficiency. It’s not the cat’s fault.”

“A cat?” I ask. There’s something just a little absurd in the way he’s processing this.

“I’m the cat in this scenario,” he informs me, as though I lack the intelligence to follow this complex analogy.

“Yes, I got that part.”

“Plenty of people really love cats,” he says then, more to himself than to me.

“Would you like some water?” I ask.

We’re in Tony’s house, so technically this is not a question I should be asking. Alongside my fervent cat allergy, his inability to assess the simple needs of others is a contributing factor in this nearly concluded break-up.

“I would,” he agrees. “I’m very thirsty.”

I leave him on the couch and take a moment to myself in the kitchen.

“So I guess you’re just doomed then, eh?” he calls out, all chipper and light.

“Yep, I guess so!” I counter.

When I return from the kitchen, tall glass of water in hand, I find that Tony is now standing, pants around ankles, with his aforementioned endowment on proud display.

I like to think I’ve handled myself pretty well up until this point. Performed my role well. But this? This is just too much.

“Oh, Tony, no,” I coo, moving quickly over to him and attempting to pull up his pants while he prods my face with his unwanted phallus.

“That wasn’t one of my finer moments,” he’ll concede later, by text.


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