Perfectly Disappointed Lover

Call me crazy, but I’ve been feeling more like a Perfectly Disappointed Lover these days. And yes, I capitalized all of those letters, because it doesn’t feel like a lower case type of issue. It feels like an upper case issue all the way, baby. An upper case issue all the way. A Disappointed Lover is what I am, and the way it’s looking, a Disappointed Lover is how I’m going to stay. 

It all started last Monday, when my baby left me blue. She left me so blue, I was worried I was going to turn another color altogether, I was that blue. Like I could have turned green or orange or something. It was kind of ridiculous. 

My baby left me blue in a few different ways on that fatal day, last Monday. She showed up late to our date at the seafood restaurant. It was supposed to be at 7:00pm sharp, but she showed up at 7:20pm. It wasn’t like she was just a few minutes late. She was a full twenty minutes late. And it wasn’t like she was ever habitually late, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t reminded her three different times in the morning. “Remember, it’s at 7:00pm tonight,” I told her as I passed her the plate of waffles. “Remember, it’s at 7:00pm tonight,” I told her as I took her plate and silverware and empty coffee cup and brought them to the kitchen sink. “Remember, it’s at 7:00pm tonight,” I told her as I was kissing her on the doorstep, getting ready to walk outside to the car. And she nodded every time I said this, and her eyes looked as if she actually really understood. And still, after all that, she showed up a full twenty minutes late. 

Another reason that she left me blue on that date: she had a diamond ring on her finger, and it wasn’t a cheap pawn store ring either. It was a full blown gleamer. I don’t know exactly how many karats or quartz or whatever the hell it was – I don’t really pay attention to that kind of stuff – but it looked like the real deal. It looked serious.

I asked her where she got the ring, and she was just curling her hair and saying “nowhere, nowhere special. I got it on my own, with my hard-earned money.” I said that it looked awfully lot like an engagement ring, and I asked if there was anyone else she was seeing. As a matter of fact, I had an engagement ring of my own in a box resting in my jacket pocket, and I had been seriously considering popping the question that evening. She told me she wasn’t seeing anyone, and I said that she was clearly lying, because that was obviously an engagement ring she was wearing. She kept on insisting no no, it wasn’t an engagement ring, she just felt like putting some more bling on her hands. More bling on my hands, see, she was saying, flashing the engagement ring in my face.

It’s an engagement ring, I shouted, causing somewhat of a scene. What do you think I am, stupid. Let’s just agree to disagree, she said. It’s not something I can just agree to disagree on, I said. That’s clearly an engagement ring, anyone with two eyes can see that. Let’s just agree to disagree, she kept repeating. A blonde woman at the next table over who was watching the whole scene interjected, saying, “No, he’s right. That’s one hundred percent an engagement ring.” The woman sitting across from me, my so-called girlfriend who I at one point considered calling my wife, ignored the blonde woman at the other table and just kept repeating, Let’s agree to disagree. Let’s just agree to disagree. 

And on top of all of this, there was another reason that my baby had left me so blue on that Monday evening date. She really wasn’t paying attention to me the entire time. She was on her phone constantly, scrolling mindlessly, like a zombie. I was accustomed to her being addicted to her phone – primarily consisting of social media and texting random friends in her life – but her phone use on this particular date just seemed excessive and cruel. This was after the frustration with her showing up late and the absolute shock of her showing off her engagement ring. I was used to her being addicted to her phone and checking it compulsively, but I was not used to her being completely glued to her phone and ignoring me altogether.

Is it your new fiancé, I asked her. I’m not engaged, she replied. I only stay true to you, honey. I only stay true to you. And yet when she was saying this, she wouldn’t look up from her phone and wouldn’t pause with her tap tap tapping on her phone. She still just looked preoccupied, like I was a nuisance. You’re sure it’s not the hot new guy you got engaged to, I asked. You’re my one and only, my honey, she would say robotically. You’re my one and only. All while continually to be staring down at her phone and tap tap tapping away, relentlessly. As if possessed by a demon. 

And the fourth and final reason my baby left me blue was the paycheck. Every guy knows what I’m talking about. Every guy knows what I’m talking about, am I right? Am I right though?

So this woman of mine, this human of the female persuasion who was sitting across from me and had pledged to be in a relationship with me, orders an entire lobster dinner and dessert and barely touches any of it. I filled up on too much bread, she insisted. But I didn’t buy this excuse, because I saw her barely eat half a roll. And even if this was a valid excuse, I would still have been upset. I would still have been blue. Lobster is expensive pretty much no matter where you go, but lobster was known for being especially expensive at this place. And there was a good chance she knew this and ordered it anyways. And barely had a mouthful of it.

When the check came, she didn’t even look up from her phone. To be fair, she did officially say thank you, but it was more of a halfhearted and grumbling, Thanks for the food honey my love, my baby. And she said all of this while she was staring down into the abyss of her phone and continuing to tap tap tap away. 

My baby left me so blue after that date. And what’s more, she’s been gone this past week. I woke up the next morning to get ready for work, and even though it was 5:30 in the morning, she was already gone, with just an imprint of her body left on her side of the bed. Her clothes? Gone. Her prized possessions? Gone. Her suitcase was gone too. There was a note addressed to me, written on a single piece of notebook paper and written with a number two pencil. The note was sitting on the kitchen counter and basically told me that she needed to take a vacation to the Bahamas for her mental health, and she would be back in roughly a month. Rested, recharged, and ready to go. She added a postscript saying, Thanks for being so respectful of my mental health. 

And here I am a week later, sitting like a poor sap in the empty house, feeling just like a Perfectly Disappointed Lover. A PDL. I’m going to coin that term from now on: PDL. That has a nice, sorrowful ring to it. 

Well, I guess it’s time to hop off the barstool in the kitchen and feed Sparky. I really hope the light of my life, my girlfriend of four and a half years, shows up after her month-long vacation. But I’m not holding my breath. 

I’m not holding my breath. Boy, do I feel blue. Gentlemen, take my advice: if you have the option of being in a relationship or staying single, stay single. It’s a lot less heartache, a lot less mess, and a lot less bullshit. But hey – I’m speaking that way as a poor blue boy. My tune could change if she shows up after the Bahama trip. 

We’ll just have to see.