Cheeseburgers and Whorishness: A Reprise.

Last night was not, as feared, entirely terrible.  I don’t know what had gotten into Mr. Quiet, but he called me around 5.30 quite without a plan.  The man used to be compulsive about knowing where we were going, when, and why.  I was hesitant, thus, when he suggested he meet me at my apartment and we “figure things out from there”—but really, it worked out just fine.  It wasn’t terribly awkward, and he was, for the most part, normal.  I think he’s one of those people who’s great in person but really hopeless on the phone (he’s too quiet) or on e-mail (he comes off so abrupt).

We ended up walking around in old town till we found a good pub.  I ate a fatty cheeseburger; it was delicious, and I didn’t feel at all bad about it (take that, Mr. Sit-ups).

J came and picked me up after Mr. Quiet was safely deposited back at the metro, and we spent a generally good evening catching up.  All seems smooth again.

I saw one of my co-workers on the train this morning, though, which was awkward. She’s very much older, this co-worker; she’s the managing editor of one of our sister publications, and I respect her so much.  She’s been really good to me throughout all of my troubles with my boss, and has listened to all of my job-related venting. She knew I was coming the wrong way, and she called me on it. 

You see, I live two stops south of my office.  Today I was coming from the north.  This has an uncanny way of happening to me—it’s my own big A, a “yes I spent the night with my boyfriend” sign around my neck, and it always happens with the most unfortunate people.  I may as well just dress like a hooker for my south-bound commutes.

I made up some story about how I was staying with “friends” in Clarendon and how I “stayed out much too late and decided to just stay there.”  Then I smiled a frantic smile, and feigned a profound interest in my newspaper.

Which is great, because now she thinks I’m either (a) irresponsible and party too much without planning or (b) am lying.  Eh, likely both, but I’d just as soon she not know.  In retrospect, it would have been wiser to just say, casually, “oh, I’m just coming from J’s today,” but I look at this woman and I see my mom, and I feel like it’s such a betrayal.  Sleeping with my boyfriend? A scandal for sure.  I somehow feel like I’m letting her, or mom, or something down by not living an entirely pure life.  And so I lie. I know it’s stupid, but I do.  The sad thing is, it doesn’t really make me feel all that much better.

I am so. very. excited for this week to be over. It’s finally spring, and I definitely feel up for a new beginning; a do-over; a take-2.  No joke.