I'm sitting on my bed, iPhone in hand, and I'm browsing through my Instagram. It's Saturday, Aiden and I just got back from an afternoon date in Manhattan, and all I want to do is chill out for the remainder of the day. I had a really long and tiring week at work, this evening called for rest and relaxation.
As I'm aimlessly scrolling through the pictures on my Instagram feed, I stop suddenly. The picture that's staring back at me makes my blood boil. I can feel my heart rate speeding up and feel my blood pressure rising.
It's The Guy.
He's on a ski trip. And it's not your typical happy-go-lucky, family winter vacation ski trip. It more like a girls-gone-wild, boys-go-hard, 1 cabin with 27 young, single professionals. (Except, of course, for my man. Who is not single. Not even a little bit.)
The picture isn't anything "bad" -- just him laughing and smiling and having a good time with six different girls. Six! The girls are his friends, but still. They're girls. In a picture. On a ski trip. With my man. Who is not single. Not even a little bit.
Rewind 24-hours. The Guy hits me up to say his homeboy is inviting him on a ski trip/Superbowl Party for the weekend. (Apparently someone dropped out of the trip at the last minute and they need someone to quickly fill the spot.) It's practically a free trip (save for the transportation fee), The Guy doesn't have a Superbowl party to go to, he's never been skiing before, and he's pretty exceed to jump at the opportunity.
I, on the other hand, am not that thrilled to hear the news.
"Umm… I don't think you have to go on a ski trip for the entire weekend just to watch the Superbowl" is what I say to The Guy when he calls to tell me the good news. (Sense the sarcasm.)
"You're right. But I've never been skiing before and it's basically free."
Silence on my part.
"But it's not worth it if you're gonna resent me."
Good answer dude. I should tell him this.
I don't. Instead I respond like this. "Well, I don't want you with me this weekend if you're gonna resent being with me and wishing you were skiing instead."
"I wouldn't resent you. I do want to go though."
More silence on my part. Clearly I'm beginning to shut down. Again. (Old habits die hard.)
Why can't he just read my damn mind and KNOW that I don't want him to go?! Like, do I have to spell it out gosh darn-it?! Oh, crap… The Guy's still talking.
"Something. Something. Something… Even though you won't admit it... Something. Something. Something... I already feel like I'm disappointing you."
Oh, so he DOES know that I don't want him to go. He's just gon' go 'head and go anyway, huh?
Fast forward to Saturday. I'm no longer lying on my bed and no longer relaxing. I'm looking at the Instagram picture, I'm livid, my blood pressure is rising, and a whole lotta mess is running through my head.
Eventually I calmed down. (Although there were some snide comments, sarcasm, and screaming involved on my end.) We talked — I talked — and I finally said what I should have said from the beginning of this entire fiasco, which is that I didn't want him to go. Which wasn't so hard to begin with. But I didn't say it to begin with.
These days, we're back on our Beyoncé-and-Jay-Z-crazy-in-love kick. I like it better this way.
Lesson learned: Effective communication in romantic relationships (and every other relationship for that matter) is kinda sorta really very necessary.