crazy girl

When I was in college, I went out with a guy we’ll call… Jerod. For about three years. He was seven years older than me. And still living with his parents. His mom would make us breakfast when we came in at 2 in the morning. Did his laundry for him. It was ridiculous (this is how I tell the story in person, too- in italics). And not that guys in rock bands aren’t known for their fidelity (ahem), but Jerod cheated on me. The one and only time it’s ever happened to me, actually (as far as I know).

I found out when the paramour du jour called me. She had to call me, because if no one told me what was going on, we might have gotten married. She forced the issue, you might say. And I am ever so eternally grateful to her for doing so.

But you know what made me mad about the whole thing? Madder than the cheating, even, which really only broke my heart a little. It healed. I mean it hurt a lot at the time, but in retrospect… Not really what I wanted out of life, you know? No, what made me mad was when I confronted him- and he lied about it.

Yup, that “stand-up guy,” as everyone called him, actually had the nerve to tell me that I was crazy. That I was making it up. As if I would make up something like that. He’s the cheater, and he’s telling me I’m nuts. What a jerk.

So he’s arguing with me, denying everything, and finally, after a lengthy harangue, I quietly interrupted. “I know what you did. She called me, Jerod. I know.” And, finally, he admitted it. He didn’t want to. He would have denied it all the way to the altar, I think, but really, there’s only so much a girl can take. And as far as staying together after I found out? Noooo. No. Let her have him.

I do not appreciate being called a liar. Even people who don’t like me or have stopped talking to me or whatever, all- there are about three of them as of last night- all of them would tell you, I’m honest. Maybe a little too honest. Ask me a real question, and I’ll give you a real answer.

I say, if you tell a woman she’s crazy, lying or that you don’t remember saying something, ya takes yer chances. Insulting as it is, when it’s happened to me, I just calmly explain what actually happened. I have to defend my honor, even if I’m dealing with a dishonorable person. Whether he chooses to tell the truth, well, I can’t do anything about that. Like I’ve said before on the blog; I know too many truths. And sometimes, people start to resent the person who knows too much.

Oh, and I almost forgot: Jerod married that nice girl. They bought a great house, I heard. Right. Next. Door. To his parents! You gotta love that!


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