PROFILE
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I was fat. No doubt about it. I’d gained fifteen pounds during the nine month relationship with Richard. Most people eat when they are stressed out, but I do the opposite. When I am happy and things are good, I like to have a good meal. Or two. Being in a relationship apparently agreed with me—but not with my wardrobe.
Richard had told me in the beginning of our relationship that his marital prenup consisted, in part, of a clause that said that if his wife gained more than ten pounds from the marriage weight, he had the right to divorce her. I knew my weight gain was a big deal and yet I couldn’t seem to find the gumption to do anything productive about it.
I finally started running again when I saw a picture of myself that I didn’t even recognize. It didn’t help that I had to buy pants with elastic waistbands and drawstrings.
Richard encouraged me with the running. I knew it was important to him that I get (back) in shape. I’m not petite under the best of circumstances, but I figured he had a right for me to look like I did when he first met me.
“You’re starting to slim down,” he said during a trip we took to San Diego.
I stared at him. The words stung because he so rarely doled out praise but was so free with criticism. “Yeah. I’ve been working at it.”
He was also critical of my parenting. He thought that Leah was indulged and spoiled.
One night at my house, Richard and I had planned to watch a movie. I’d put Leah to bed—in her own bed for a change, which I thought was progress. The house had such a strange layout that her bedroom door was up a short flight of stairs from the living room where the television was. Richard asked me to close her bedroom door.
I stared at him. “B . . . but she can’t sleep with the door closed.”
“Tiia,” he began forcefully. “This is a simple problem. You are the mother. You are thirty five years old. She is seven. Take control of the situation. Tell her you are closing the door. That’s it. You let everyone walk all over you and dictate how you live your life—your father, Leah, your friends, everyone. I won’t put up with it. I just won’t.”
I shook my head. I wanted this to work for so many reasons, not the least of which was my current low self-esteem and ongoing lack of confidence as a single parent. “But it’s not a simple problem. Don’t you see? She has abandonment issues. She has seen a therapist for years.”
“No she’s just manipulating you and controlling you. It’s utterly ridiculous.”
After more than 150 dates and almost four years, I was getting weary and discouraged; I knew something didn’t feel right for me, but I was on a relationship path that I didn’t want to or couldn’t leave.
Then in walked Graydon—literally. Leah and I lived in a converted mobile home that butted up against another small house. A young man had recently moved into the house next door, and I had seen him a few times and waved.
He was tall and built like a body builder with bulging muscles that he liked to display by wearing muscle shirts and shorts. One afternoon after dropping Leah off for a sleepover at Jenny’s, there was a knock at the door and there was Graydon.
“You left the trunk of your car open,” he said with a winning smile, “I thought ya might want to know.”
Oh boy, did I. “Thank you. Hey, come in. You’re Graydon, right?” His eyes were a pale blue, and he seriously could not have been more than twenty-five (he was twenty-two as I found out).
“OK just for a minute, but I have a cold so I don’t want to stay long.” His voice sounded gravelly and his eyes were a little bloodshot. Poor baby!
“You poor thing! What are you taking for it?”
He looked despondent. “I don’t have anything. What do you think I should take?”
I suggested a variety of cold remedies, which when I brought them over to him later that evening, included a backrub. He assured me that this was a necessary component of his getting well. I didn’t want to argue with his medical needs.
Backrubs, as we all know, often lead to frontrubs. Graydon was no exception. For being such a young pup, he displayed no lack of sexual experience.
I so would like to say that I thought of Richard as this hot, young stud fulfilled his MILF fantasy. I would even more like to say that I remembered that Richard, like most lawyers, had serious trust issues and had made me promise over and over to be faithful.
The fact is, it made me feel good. For a change, my self-image and even my body image was the one reflected back in Graydon’s eyes and I liked it. He wasn’t what I was looking for in a long-term partner, but Graydon made me realize that the one I had wasn’t what I was looking for either.
***To Be Continued***
Image of Joe Mantegna courtesy of Forensis Channel.forumfree
copyright © 2009 Tiia Jones
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