Oh, sweet memories!

It was the December of 2010.

I had bought this guy, J., a Christmas present. We had met on OkCupid, and he was my Manic Pixie Dream Boy. Perfect in every way. Tall, thin. Lots of curly kinky hair. Big glasses. He was a writer. A Southern gentleman. And I ruined that. Or not. He moved out of New York. I think I babbled too much. I learned my lesson.

Anyway. I bought him a rustic-looking leather notebook. Gold envelopes. Parchment paper. A fountain pen. And a $30 Jack Daniel’s. I wrote him a letter on the parchment paper, with the fountain pen, and put it in the gold envelope. I sent a picture of the letter to two of my male friends. They thought it was incredibly cute.

I was telling my friend D. (that guy who ended up proposing to me, *grumbles*) about the whole thing. I was completely enthused about J. I was enthused about D. as well, but he lived on the other side of the country, and it just wasn’t going to work. I was tired of long-distance faux relationships.

It didn’t matter that this guy J wasn’t terribly interested in me, and it showed. I was completely smitten. I wanted him so badly. I was living my every moment for him. It was sickening.

D. thought this was a terrible idea, buying all these things and giving him to him for Christmas. I told myself that I had no expectations, and I really didn’t. I was so incredibly in love with this guy that I didn’t care if he rejected him. He told me he was older, and he was, about 8 years older, so he knew what he was talking about. I scoffed. He didn’t know a damned think about love.

He told me J. sounded too much like a hipster. Something about skinny jeans and being pretentious. Ironic, considering he fits being a hipster to the T sans clothes, in retrospect.

I said whatever. He said whatever. I gave J. the present. He loved it. And I saw him one more time after that, before moving back to North Carolina.

Moral of the story: Men are assholes….but I love them anyway.