“It’s the end of our story, you’re so fucking boring…”

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New reader abledad comments:

“My friends still make fun of me for breaking-up with a lady the ‘2nd’ time that she went to jail. She was more proof of the correlation between ‘crazy’ and ‘hot’.”

 

I confess to laughing when I read that.

 

Not due to schadenfreude.

 

(I don’t care for such at all; I avoid it.)

 

But because I could relate so damn well.

 

I imagine many men can relate equally so.

 

 

 

Posh style wrapped seductively around boorish behavior.

 

Dragged into drama then out of the party.

 

Gin-phase‡ laments demanding endless, yet futile, comforting.

 

Going out to dinner just to end up in misery.

 

Hitting the club only to miss the dance floor.

 

If the above is senseless or vague to you:

 

Then you likely haven’t lived it.

 

Yet.

 

(If you haven’t, then lucky fellow, you.)

 

 

 

Now, I’ve said – many times – dealing with certain issues is par for the course if a man wants a woman.

 

So much so, I counseled men who refuse to put in the work to:

 

Stock up on tissues and hand lotion.

 

However, there’s a limit.

 

Compromise is one thing.

 

Total self-abasement is another entirely.

 

 

 

It’s no good owning a Ferrari only to have it in the shop ever other Thursday.

 

The repair costs – let alone the time without it being functional and of use – make it a fool’s bargain, at best.

 

A Faustian one, at worst.

 

 

 

Thus, as difficult as it may be (easier said than done, certainly):

 

Pause to realize whether the bucket you’re emptying onto the fire is water.

 

Or kerosene.

 

Then, continue.

 

Or leave to let it burn itself out.

 

And if you’re still morbidly curious (which I don’t recommend):

 

Social media will let you witness both the smoke and proliferation of ashes.

 

 

 

 

‡ Gin-phase is a term I devised for those moments a woman gets drunk at a party/event/gathering then sits on a flight of stairs somewhere in the vicinity and opens the floodgates to self-deprecation in hopes she can fish in the deluge for compliments.

 

 

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“I’m sick of running… into the whip that strikes my back”

 

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In the past, I’ve advised extricating oneself from stagnant, bad or outright toxic situations as swiftly as possible.

 

I stand by my words.

 

Yet there’s something succinctly important that I feel must be mentioned:

 

Running from a problem isn’t the same as running towards a solution.

 

 

 

I’ve learned the hard way that some escapes just lead to different – and worse – prisons.

 

The maxim “out of the frying pan and into the fire” has its merits, no doubt.

 

So, when fleeing, be cautious as to the destination.

 

 

 

Of course, I’m a man of nuance.

 

This isn’t to say one should never make a mad dash out.

 

After all, sometimes a hasty flight is the only remedy.

 

This is merely a reminder to keep one eye in front as much as one eye behind.

 

 

 

Additionally, when the regrets arrive – as they always do (oddly enough, it seems to be the worse a situation was, the more many of us seem to lament its passing but that’s for another day) – realize:

 

You walked away for a reason.

 

And it was likely a good one.

 

 

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