--- So here's the conundrum of the day. Mom, you're not allowed to read this.
I got a birth announcement in the mail today. A very nice little shot
of a cute chapeaued wee bugger who was born to a sorority sister of
mine on St. Patrick's Day. Appropriately enough, his parents decided to
use the name of that particular saint as one of his monikers. It's
always nice to know what's going on in old friends' lives. I haven't
chatted with this particular sorority sister since her wedding in the
autumn of 2002. She was actually my little sister in the house, and to
a certain extent I feel bad I haven't spent as much time with her as I
could, particularly since she moved to the Twin Cities in 2001. We've
had lunch, but she annoys me and the "little sister" designation will
only get you so far with me if you're an annoying individual. Little
sisters in my house were not like pledge daughters---you chose your
kid, your kid chose you. When you got a little sister, well, your job
was to welcome her in, show her the ropes, introduce her to people and
that was pretty much that. You handed her over to her pledge mom a few
weeks into the school year---who was someone she had chosen to hang out
with. And this is what happened with my little sister. However, I did
honestly like her. We were on our way to becoming pretty close friends
until she tried to lecture me about this certain guy I was seeing at
the time. She knew him well, but according to her, I didn't and I
should "Beware. He's a pig-dog." (Why she kept using that phrase I
don't know. She kept repeating it, like it was the best description she
had for this guy. Wierd. "Jackass" would have worked just as well.) Her
warning came a wee bit too late. It's the kind of thing that happens at
college. Girls fighting over guys. It's stupid in retrospect, but it
happens, and hard feelings result and last for quite some time,
surprisingly. The guy in question was pretty popular in my circle and
was relatively attractive and we'd been on and off again for six months
or so. Maybe I should correct that. "On and Off" seems to imply that we
had some sort of "serious relationship." We didn't. We were both busy
people. We had classes to attend and extracurricular activities to work
on. We never made the time to have a relationship. He had his friends.
I had mine and while our social circles overlapped, we weren't always
constantly in each others pockets. But I genuinely liked the guy. I
really did. I wouldn't have much minded putting things off to make time
for him, but he didn't want that and that was fine with me because the
relationship always and forever seemed to be stuck in "if only" land. If only we had more time. If only I hadn't already made plans. If only I didn't have this paper due tomorrow.
We got along just fine, but there wasn't a good deal of depth, if you
get what I'm saying. Every time I thought it was done, he'd do
something nice and romantic and I'd be hooked again. In retrospect, it
seems as if he couldn't make up his mind about me--whether I was worth
the extra effort of actual dating. And I made things nice and easy for
him by letting him in whenever he wanted in. Ah, if we could only go
back and do things differently, knowing what we know now, eh? This
event marks the ending of my relationship with this guy. It got nasty
and my little sister played a big part in shaping my feelings of the
entire event. Of course, the story is replete with the whole he
said/she said angle. After an eventful---or not so, you be the
judge---evening this guy was saying some not very flattering things
about me and word had spread. I'd already been tipped off by some other
friends, who, of course, believed my version of events, rather than
his. Everyone who knew me knew he was full of shit, but the little
sister thought the story was true and refused to take my word for it.
She thought I was trying to keep my virtue intact (ha! like I had any!)
by denying his version of events. The truth of the matter was that the
guy suffered from a medical problem called "whiskey dick." Yep. That's
right. He couldn't get it up. This was embarrasing to him and to salve
his wounded pride he made up a story about me being particularly
demanding. I'm not going to go into details about the story, but it's
pretty funny now. In the here and now, most men would flat-out LOVE the
things he told everyone I'd asked for. Back then, though, "my sexual
demands" were apparently out of line and he had to tell everyone that
he was the one who rejected me and why. Now, we all know male pride is
a fragile thing---like a particularly rare and delicate piece of glass:
it shatters easily and isn't easily replaced. Look at it from his
perspective: you finally manage to get a particular special someone to
come home with you, hence it doesn't look really great when the object
of your affection---someone whom you've ranted, raved and fretted over
for months on end---leaves in a huff ten minutes later. Particularly
after you begged and pleaded with her to come back to your house in
front of said roommates. I believe it's called "saving face." Roommates
have a tendency to be nosy---particularly when they're close friends.
His roommates were there when he asked me back to his house. They were
there when I left. They knew there was a story there and they wanted
the details. The guy was more than happy to give them the details. They
listened and sympathized, decided I was a slut and then spread the word
to everyone on campus. One of whom happened to be Jen, who fell for it
hook-line-and sinker. But because I decided to let it slide; to not
shoot my mouth off like he had, to her mind my version of the events
wasn't necessary, because she knew what really happened that night.
What really mattered to her was that I stayed away from him in the
future---like I was some kind of idiot who couldn't figure that out for
myself. I remember the conversation well. "Kathy, you don't have to do this with me."
"I'm not doing a damn thing, Jen."
"Kathy, don't cover up! You don't have to do that with me!"
"I know I don't have to, which is why I'm not! I was there. You weren't."
"Kathy, you don't have to do this with me! {insert vigorous hand flapping here} He's a pig-dog."
"Umm, yeah, I know. Which is why I won't have anything to do with him now. Why are you taking his word for it?"
"Kathy, you don't have to do this with me!"
"Am I suddenly a liar?"
"You don't have to do this with me. I know what happened!
UGH!
After about a half hour's worth of this bullshit, I finally cut her off
and kicked her out of my room. Her concern about what was being said
about me was touching, as was her worries that I wouldn't stay away
from him in the future. That was nice, but the fact that she refused to
believe my version of the event pretty much soured the friendship for
me and I kept my distance from her for the short amount of time I had
left at school. After all, if one of your friends decides to believe
hearsay about you, rather than your version of events, well, there's
not a whole lot of trust and respect going on there. What's the point
of keeping going under those circumstances? I knew her, but not that
well, it seems and she really didn't know me. So, keeping this scenario
in mind, I'm leery of her. She's stubborn and she's easily waylaid by
things "she's heard." But when she moved here I tried to put those
things in the past. We've had lunch. She's tried to recruit me many
times for sorority alumni stuff. I went to her wedding. I sent her a
very nice wedding present, for which she never sent a thank you note.
Now, she's had a kid and the proper and correct thing to do when one
receives a birth announcement is to send a wee gift and a nice note. I
do this every time I get one of these. No matter who it is or what sort
of relationship I have with them. It's the polite thing to do. But I
don't want to. Particularly not after I spent $70 bucks on a wedding
present for which I didn't receive a thank you note. I'm thinking on
this one. I'm not sure what to do. Do I send a note? A present? To send
something to this person who I don't know if I like strictly for the
sake of appearances when it's obvious that she doesn't really care. I
don't know. It's probably a waste of money. Oh, and just a side
note---the guy did apologize for what he'd done a few months after the
fact. He didn't think it would become the big deal it did and he was
sorry for it. Particularly when he finally realized I hadn't shot my
mouth off about him when I could have easily made his life a living
hell. It was very apparent that people would have believed my version
of events over his. His story was was a little too fantastical; mine
was based in reality. People would have believed me. I found out much,
much later---from Jen, no less, who is still in contact with him---that
for him, I was "the one that got away." Interesting, huh? I still don't
know what to make of that---or if I should even believe it knowing the
guy.