My friend, Chris, just got dumped by his girlfriend. Now to me that makes no sense at all. Chris is an awesome guy: he's got brown hair that just begs your hand to run through it, violet blue eyes, a shy smile and a rock hard body. Then he still has a great sense of vulgar humor at times and a gentlemen-like touch when he speaks to you. See: perfect!
Needless to say: my buddy is pretty distraught. That got me thinking about the girlfriend. Why did she dump him like a child at an orphanage: without any reason or at least a goodbye kiss? And then it hit me like a ray of light hits a hangover the next morning: Chris was "too nice."
Everyone's had that type of relationship: the guy is so considerate it makes your toenails want to fall off at some stage; he is so thoughtful it makes you feel guilty when looking at the hunk in the seat next to yours at the movies; he is so giving it makes you feel like a thief accepting all the gifts and the free dinners and drinks. He is just too nice.
I was like that once: the "too nice" girl. It happened in my first year at varsity. We met while I was busy doing telephone duty with my roommate one night (I was absolutely TERRIFIED of telephone duty and my roommate assured me eleven to twelve on a Wednesday is the best time to do the dreaded duty cause it's little Saturday and everyone's usually out and about doing what students do best: drink and fornicate). It's always been easy to flirt over the phone and we hit it off, arranging a date for that Friday. The date went alright and we were exclusive since then. It was during exams though and we didn't see each other all that much cause he was studying engineering and it's usually a bitch in the last semester. To make up for lost time I invited him home for the holidays and he gladly accepted (when I dropped him off at his house I realized why!). We had a lot of casual fun, always on the borderline of being more intimate, but I didn't want to hand it to him on a plate: he was just a first year, after all.
So Valentine's Day was the Big Day, or it was suppose to be. We were seniors now so he arranged some first years to serenade me from the balcony and one of them came up and gave me a bunch of roses and he was stupendiously delicious for a first year, I remember thinking. The boyfriend was nowhere in sight. I thought he'd like to make an appearance and waited. And waited. And waited until the bastard rocked up drunk out of his mind from the Valentine's dance punch that he took a "few" sips of with his mates before coming over. I didn't feel like unlocking my chastity belt after I tasted some vomit in his mouth and he passed out soon after that. Things then went downhill faster than a kid on a bicycle with no brakes.
He was always "busy", but I could never figure out with what. I wrote him stupid, soppy poems, cooked him food cause he always complained he was so "tired" after class, did his washing (and I didn't even do my own before that!), cleaned his fucking pigsty. I was the "too nice" girl.
Then, after a month of slavery and serving, I phoned him to find out what time he'd be picking me up to go to the movies. He didn't answer his phone. So I called his dorm and they kept saying he's not available. After talking to my friend who was a Philosophy major, I realized it was time to confront. I walked to his dorm, high heels and all and asked the first year on telephone duty to call him. His dorm had intercoms in the rooms to notify them of a telephone call (one telephone on each passage) or a guest at the front door. The first year was clearly confused and just said there's a nice lady for him, not telling if the lady was on the phone or at the front desk. So the boyfriend told the first year to tell "the nice lady" he was not there. I smiled at the first year, made a gesture to come around the front desk in which he nodded with a terrified expression in his face and stepped back. As calmly as I could I turned on the intercom to the whole dorm while giving the boyfriend a piece of my mind, telling him and all whom wanted to hear how he couldn't even get it up when the occasion presented itself and that if he had time in his "busy" schedule, he would come down before I told everyone about his pubic hair which he plucks with tweezers.
He was there in eleven seconds and I just stood there, exhausted of being so damn nice, and gave him a slap in the face before I took of my heels, went to my friend's dorm next door to his and spent the night on top of him forgetting all about the "nice" girl I was.
Since then my relationships have only lasted two, three weeks max. I guess it's just enough time to not get attached or bored before you move on to the next best thing. Needless to say: being nice died at that front desk and I've never looked back since.
I just wish I could do something to make Chris feel better. It's the first time in a long time that I wish I was the "nice girl"; maybe he would look at me differently.