By Maria Padhila
“Oh, be quiet! This isn’t about you!” My girlfriend was laughing as she said it, but she had a point, all right.
Chris has been seeing someone, and the word “love” has apparently been spoken. I think it’s too soon, I’m worried he’s going to hurt her feelings, I don’t really know her very well, I know she knows all about me, I know he’s told her he’s not a one-woman person, but I don’t really know if she’s truly down with all this, I know she’s straight, I know she’s not interested in knowing me much better, and I’m not really sure she’s not actually totally monogamous and secretly hoping he’ll change his ways, and this was not the scenario I’d envisioned.
I’ve already called him a son of a bitch, at high noon on the street in Capitol Hill, and that was before I was halfway into the prosecco and grapefruit juice. And I can’t stop laughing — mostly at myself.
Other than that, it’s a perfect day — almost spring, sunny, and we’re lined up at the bar, me, Chris, my girlfriend, her boyfriend, and we’re about to watch the bartender set fire to some Greek cheese. What could be finer?
We all want to hear about Chris’ romance, so I try to stop talking for a minute, even though it’s what I do best, snarky fast-talking. I am a very clever Gemini/Libra, debating myself for hours, aren’t I? Aren’t I the smartest one in the love room? Everything I do and say is colored by my competitiveness on the field of love, the flaw in myself I have to face down in this, and I’m very amused at myself, and grateful that my friends can be at least a little amused as well.