Saturday, November 20, 2004

How to Turn a Relationship to Crap in One Evening Flat

Well, Sweetie Pie slept on the couch last night. I have to say that in 2 1/2 years of mariage and almost six years of knowing each other, that's a new one. I think I slept on the couch once when I was sick as a dog. Oh and a couple of times when I was really mad at him I went to bed in the guest room, but Sweetie Pie came and got me.

Well, there was no getting anyone for me. Because really, I was already asleep in a red wine haze when Sweetie Pie decided me he hated me so much he couldn't stand to be in the same bed as me.

The thing is, that technically, I'm mad at him. Well, not really mad. I was irritated, but now my head pounds and I'm over it. Point is, I was never mad enough to even consider sleeping in another room. Or maybe I was just too drunk for the idea to cross my mind... Either way, this wasn't my doing.

Let me explain what happened... Last night, good friends of ours, A & B came over for dinner. It was a nice dinner. We had beef wellington with scalloped potatoes and I made a caramel nut tart for dessert. Everything was homemade and everything turned out fantastic if I may say so myself!

We were having a great time. The wine that A & B brought over was drank rather quickly and the boys went out after dinner to get another bottle and get some cigars. Beer was drank as well. Everything was fine, until we started playing one of the games that I carry in my other gig. It's called Bottoms Up. It's made by Hustler. 'Nough said.

Basically what it is, it's a dirty version of the famous Cranium game. So categories are "Perverted Pictures," "Sexy Charades" and things like that. There are also truth or bare squares around the board. And one of those caused the end of my marriage.

You see, Sweetie Pie and I have always had a rule that we don't need to know about each other's past when it comes to sex. We have a don't ask, don't tell rule. Well, last night he broke that rule. And I can guarantee you that should our marriage survive this, he will never ask me anything else again.

The question the boys decided to ask us was how many guys have we slept with. I'll be honest with you, since you've faithfully read my blog this whole time, despite the large gaps in between postings. I lied about the number. Actually, that's not entirely true. I responded that I didn't know. Which the response I received to that answer made me realize that just saying any number, even if it'd been 10,000 like Will Chamberlain, would have been better than that answer.

But see, I always had a rule back in my single days that I would not keep track of the number of guys I've slept with. I figured out that as long as I didn't know it, I could never be called a slut.

Now some people who've only slept with one or two people would say "uhm... It's not hard to know." But the thing is, once the number reaches eight or double digits, unless you have a notch system in your bedpost, you don't really keep track. I'm sure most people on a rainy Sunday afternoon have sat there and counted out there guys or girls and have figured out their number, but not so for me, because of my rule.

So anyway, Sweetie Pie was really freaked out by this, so much that I finally said, "it's definitely lower than 15." Now here's the thing... I don't know if my number's 15, but just on casual estimations, I think it might be a little higher than that.

Well, apparently 15 wasn't the right number to say either, despite Sweetie Pie earlier saying that he'd slept with 12 women before me. So see, his number isn't far off from mine and yet I'm the whore. When will those stupid stereotypes stop?

So flash forward to the end of the night and Sweetie Pie saying a number of times that he didn't know his wife is a whore and I went to bed without saying goodnight. Once company had left, of course.

I fell asleep right away, since it was 3 in the morning and Sweetie Pie at this point decided he didn't want to share a bed with me, for whatever reason.

Which really, if the whole number thing is the reason, I don't even want to talk to him. I mean, I can't change it, you know? It's what it is. Why do couples choose to do this to themselves?

Love,

Catwoman.

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