By Allie Kruk @ Funky Feminist
“Are you there yet?”
“How about now?”
“Are you even close?”
I remember feeling like I was on a really long road trip with a four-year old in the backseat.
Then finally: “You came, right?”
“Um, no,” I replied. “But it’s okay. You tried, I think.”
I could tell by the look on his face that I had hit a nerve. I tried softening the blow to his ego, making excuses about not having breakfast that morning and failing to properly hydrate. It didn’t really help, so I started putting on my skirt and getting up to leave.
“You aren’t going to stay?” he asked.
“No…why would I stay?”
“I don’t know. For cuddling, I guess.”
“But I don’t really like cuddling.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of…I don’t know? Cold? No, wait…Frigid. That’s the word for it. Sort of like an ice queen.”
“No. They haven’t,” I said as I walked out the door.
I wish I could say that I didn’t take his words to heart. I wish I could say I told him off. I wish I could say his comments didn’t stick with me for the past seven years.
But they did.