We still live together. And we, for the last ten years, meet on the couch every morning and have coffee. This can’t change.
He is not my husband, but he’s my best friend and he is a phenomenal listener when he’s not on his iPhone. When he gets his own secret blog he can dispute that last fact if he wants. I have few boundaries when it comes to him. I shouldn’t tell him everything I do, but I do.
The morning after getting the Moustachio Dump, he noticed I was bummed.
“I got dumped.” (I know it was only a few weeks old, but online dating after forty feels a lot like high school in many ways, so zip it)
Him, truly: ”Oh, sorry. What happened?”
I tell him mostly everything. I refrain from some stuff I wouldn’t want to hear, or in fact admit to.
He says, what was his name? I tell him, Marcello. He tries not to spit his coffee out. “And he had a hipster beard?”
Me: “And moustache.”
We both laugh.
He empathizes and says, “Can’t you be friends with him at least, do you want me to call him?”
Me: “OMG how bad do you want to get rid of me!!?”
Him: “It’s not that at all smiles, it’s just you both seemed to have a lot in common, and if he’s bothered by you living with me, then maybe we rearrange our living.”
Me: “UGH. Dude, he dumped me cause I wouldn’t put out!”
Him: “Oh. Shit, yeah he sucks.”
Me: “Can we just get back together, this is online shit is so exhausting.”
Him: “So you want to get back together, because you are too lazy to date now?”
Me: “Pretty much. Yup.”
Him: “This is why I can’t be with anyone. You women are crazy.”