I broke up with a gentleman recently after a brief relationship. It was nice while it lasted but not something I shall mourn for eternity now that it is over. I have to admit the split was not entirely his fault, as it doesn’t take a lot for me to go off a man. One strike and you’re out, buddy. Sadly one attribute I was not blessed with as a child, or indeed an adult, was tolerance and like all self-respecting modern women my rule of thumb is, when the going gets tough I get going. Bugger working at it, there’s a girl’s night out and a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc with my name written all over it.
So much so, in fact, that I have often thought about printing up mini flyers that I keep upon my person and hand out to men I meet with a list of ‘not to do’s’ on it in order to ensure a relationship lasts longer than a week. My most recent ex saw a month out which I thought was blinding considering my track record.
His mistake, however, was trying to tell me what do. Well, more accurately, asking me to consider his feelings. I mean can you imagine!? Consider his feelings! What next I wonder, respect him as a human being? Share things with him in a trusting and adult relationship?! Well, I ran a mile and can you blame me?
To expand further; it all started a couple of weeks ago, when we’d been out for a few light libations on a Sunday afternoon, by a few libations I mean about 3 bottles of wine, but hey it’s summer, nearly. On returning home I grew bored of the usual Sunday night TV and decided that showing said ex a few photo albums from yester year would be more fun. Needless to say, as is often the case after a year-long pub-crawl around the world there were various picture of ex-lovers scattered liberally through the chosen journals. And so the trouble began.
The next day, I was shocked to receive an emailing detailing how inappropriate he found the whole event and that I hadn’t considered his feelings in my uncovering of my past in such a wanton manner. He wanted me to think more.
And so I did. I thought about the situation long and hard, and like all responsible, considerate adults it was then that I decided the only course of action was to tell him where to stick his sensibilities. I’ve always been a firm believer that life is made much easier when options are reduced, I find ‘my way or the highway’ tends to just about cover things.
That being said, I have to admit, the unfortunate episode did throw me a bit and I was left quite aghast to realise that it might not be standard practice in new relationships to give your partner the full rundown of your sexual past on the 5th date.
Why, I wonder, is it so taboo to talk about your ex’s? After all, we’ve all had them. Aren’t they what make us who we are? I think it’s a sad state of affairs, in this day and age, when you cant disclose details about your past to the person you are sharing a bed with. Ok, perhaps best not to bring up your genital wart outbreak c.1997 three cocktails in, but, man alive, so I fucked a few Maori rugby players in New Zealand, get over it, Christ it wasn’t the whole team.
We split up. We split up because I’m not prepared to edit a fraction of my life out to satisfy someone else’s perception of what I should be like. I have ex-boyfriends, deal with it. I’ve slept with men whose name I can’t ever remember, some from such far-flung corners of the earth we had no form of communication bar the language of love (and let me tell you, it’s pretty hard to get a sentence out when you have your mouth full), deal with that too. Oh and once I had sex with a dwarf. Ok, he wasn’t officially a dwarf in the traditional pantomime sense of the word but he was definitely of significant stunted growth, don’t want to hear that either? Well, here’s the science bit, my past is perfect because without it, I wouldn’t be the fabulous, fruitful, well-shagged, I mean, heeled woman I am today.
Love me, love my history, baby, because there’s certainly plenty of it and it ain’t going anywhere…