A Date with A Unicorn Part 18: Hiding my Imperfections

When I first started dating Mr. Unicorn, I told him that I was all about clumsiness and candor. First, that for some reason, my entire life, I had been just about the most clumsy, most hazardously-inclined person, I had ever met. I trip over things and bump into walls and table corners. Spill food and drinks. Break glasses and plates. Stumble and Fall. If there is a knob that can fall off a light switch, I've dismantled it. I've knocked crystals off of chandeliers. I've broken more than a few cell phones and even more phone chargers. I get tears in clothes and stains on pants. I've opened a window only to have the glass completely shatter. It's a problem.

I'm sure there is some genetic, scientific, neurological reason for this. Maybe I'm pigeon-toed or have poor spacial awareness or it has something to do with my eye sight perception or my posture and stance. Maybe the left side of my body is 1/4 an inch shorter than the right. But whatever it is, I have functioned in the world without discovering the ultimate source and without any major catastrophes, as of yet. (*Knock on wood*). Mostly, it just makes me feel mortifyingly embarrassed and nervous around nice things and frustrated (when it happens yet again or I ruin a blouse or have to fess up to another person that I've damaged something that belongs to them).

I told Mr. U about all of this. "If we continue dating," I explained, "at some point or another, you will without a doubt have something spilled on one of your shirts. Permanently. And I will feel bad." His only response, without flinching or batting an eye, was this: "I look forward to it."

That simple phrase: "I look forward to it," in reference to one of my most secret flaws (I try to hide this lack of grace at all costs around most people) was one of the many things Mr. U said and did in the beginning that made me think he just might be for real and we might just really work out.

But despite his being forewarned of my defect in this area and his promise to be patient, I still wasn't quite ready to let him see this unfortunate side of myself. So I would attempt, as you will see, to conceal it. For the most part, however, I hadn't had to hide anything as my accident-prone ailings had not surfaced during our time together...Until...this morning. When all hell --broke loose.

First, I knocked down the shower basket (whatever you call that thing that holds all your soaps and shampoos that sticks against the wall with whatever you call those suction pucker things). "Sorry," I said. "It's okay." He said. (I knew this one was okay). (And I had to admit this one, because he was on deck for the bathroom next.) As he hung the device back in its proper place along the tiles, I went to turn the dimmer switch up to provide more light. And then the knob fell off. "Sorrrrryyyyy!" I said "No problem," he said. (He saw this one happen, as he was standing right next to me). And then...

While Mr. U was in the shower, I started to get dressed. And the T-Tornado just kept rolling through...

I spilled a glass of water. All over the bed-side dresser. And down into and on top of all the contents in the open dresser drawer. Major, major - fail. I went into the kitchen and got as many paper towels as I could and came back to sop up the damage. Of course, I couldn't hide this one either. So when Mr. U came out of the shower, I just looked at him with an expression that a puppy might use when it knows its peed inside the house and been bad. "Sorrrrreeeeeeeey," I said. "What now?" he looked at me incredulously. "I spilled some water," I explained, my eyes avoiding contact with his. He walked over to assess the damage. And then I watched him pull out his WALLET and one by one pull ones and fives and tens and twenty and then fifty dollar bills out of his wallet and lay them out individually on top of paper towels on the bed to dry. And then shake out his nice, leather wallet completely soaked. "Sorry." I said again. "I'm so sorry." "It's okay, it's okay," he assured me. Though I couldn't help but wonder if he was actually starting to get annoyed or not. Maybe he felt like he was starting to deal with a small child here with sticky hands and a penchant for running them along the walls leaving fingerprints behind.

And then the unthinkable happened. I went to pick up my duffel bag from the floor to finish packing my things, when I realized, IN HORROR, that a bottle of blue liquid medicine had SPILLED on his perfect Persian rug. HOLY. MOTHER. OF. GOD. (Sorry for those who don't like the Lord's name taken in vain but still...it must be said, even again...) HOLY. MOTHER. OF. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!

This I was not admitting to. I could not. I would not. Panic set in. And then resolve. Resolve to clean up this mother effin mess before he saw it. What to do? How to get him out of this room? !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lovely man that he is, he will always makes me coffee. And/or breakfast. If I ask. Which I did. After I heard him puttering around the kitchen, safely down the hall and out of sight, I rushed into the bathroom. Soaked a wash cloth in water and set to work in the corner of the bedroom scrubbing and rubbing the rug with abandon. And as if finding Mr. U wasn't enough luck for one person to deserve in a single calendar year, the blue came out. Mostly anyways. But it came out. Enough that he probably wouldn't notice. For awhile. And in the mean time I could try to get at it, with more powerful cleaning substances, at a later date and time. I hoped.

Mr. U, totally unaware of my faux pas and swift remedy, brought me my treats and then we both finished getting ready for work. Then we put on our coats and hats and stepped outside into the Dupont morning. I couldn't get out of that blue-stained rug room fast enough! And then oh how beautiful it was this morning. To be outside and freed from my failings. Blue skied and crisply cold, not bone-chilling cold as it has been. We strolled to work together taking in all of downtown waking up to start the day. And a Fri - day, no less. Everyone and everything seemed to cheerfully be anticipating the weekend. Every car, every pedestrian, ever bar front. All was right and clean and fresh in my world again.

We arrived at my office first. "Have a great day," he chirped at me and leaned over to kiss me. I gave him a big hug and squeezed him. "Ooooooh, thank you for being so good to me," I praised him. "You deserve it," he said back. And then...as I pulled away from him...I saw it. Oh. No. Just - NO. There it was. A lipstick stain. A giant lipstick stain. On his expensive, starched, dress shirt. FML. Just Fuck. My. Life.

A vision of our future lives flashed before my eyes. Living in a shitty house with shitty furnishings. Our friends come over for a dinner party and I've just spilled red wine on the beige couch. "This is why we can't have nice things," he turns and explains to them. "This is why we can't have nice things." Ugh.

I didn't have the heart to tell him. Maybe he'd discover it. Maybe he wouldn't. Probably he would. But I couldn't tell him just then - As he looked back at me with his own puppy dog eyes that seemed to say he'd known he'd been good and deserved a treat (and not another disappointment). And he looked at me the way he often does - like maybe somewhere in his head he's thinking he's the lucky one. But he would be wrong. I am the lucky one. It's me.

I don't need lots of nice things. I only need one nice thing - and that - is him.

A Date with a Unicorn: Part 13

Okay, so you didn't really expect the perfect to last forever did you? Okay, so maybe I did and maybe you did too. But the spell had to break. And boy did it ever. Mr. Unicorn and I shared a couple of rocky days starting with a miserable night of sleep. Or perhaps I should say miserable night without sleep...

The first time I stayed over at Mr. U's on a night before a work day, neither of us slept a wink. We tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable. But couldn't. His apartment was too dry. I coughed. And coughed. And coughed. And then I coughed some more. He is always cold and likes things hot. The temperature in the room, the amount of blankets. The suffocating comforter. I fuckin' hate that comforter. I'd like to burn that comforter some day while Mr. U is at work. Which might have helped you guess, that in direct contrast, I am always hot and like things colder.

INSERT groan, moan, deep sigh, and primordial scream here. geeeeeeeeeeeeezus just let me get some shut eye!

After a restless night, I was exhausted. Not only had it been a long night, but it had been a long weekend before. I'd been traveling up north to ski and party with my old college friends for four days. The day before I'd gotten up, skied for 3 hours. Cleaned a country house. Packed up my belongings. Sat in a car crammed next to a travel companion while simultaneously being jabbed by metal ski equipment in my side for three hours. Then I'd gotten on a train for 3 and a half hours. Lugged my luggage on the DC Metro. And lastly mustered up every ounce of energy I had left to spend some quality time with Mr. U for several hours. After all that - I was running on fumes.

In the morning, it is safe to say I got up on the wrong side of the bed. I might as well have gotten up on the wrong side of the universe for all the hate and angry and ugly and cranky I had in my head and my heart. Needless to say, I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around as I got up at the crack of dawn and started getting ready for work. And to top it all off, it wasn't my space you know? Not my shower. Not my sink. Not my closet. Not my room. I was getting ready out of a suitcase jammed with big puffy made-for-snow ski clothes that seemed to drown out my normal work wear and every day items like my hair brush, pantyhose, etc. I couldn't find anything. I slipped in the shower. The lights were SO friggin bright too.

Alright, I'll just admit it. I. AM NOT. A MORNING PERSON. To begin with. If I haven't had my coffee yet - don't talk to me. On second thought, don't even come near me. Some crazy monster takes over my body. I'm like....I'll just say it....insane. And mean. This is not my best quality. Nor was this one of my best moments. By far.

Meanwhile, Mr. U goes into work about 2-3 hours later than me on average. The jerk. So he was all warm and cuddly in bed as I showered and got dressed. And he just lay there, all doe-eyed, watching me. It was. to say the least. annoying.

"Stop watching me," I barked at him. "But I like watching you," he said sleepily. "Well you're making me self-conscious. And its...annoying," I retorted back at him. "Okay," he said startled and turned over in the bed away from me.

What the fuck was my problem?? You know when you are being COMPLETELY awful? Like the worst version of yourself? And you do or say things or when its really bad DO and SAY things that are just so awful awful but you can't stop yourself? It's an out of body experience watching yourself be a jack ass willing yourself from your core to shut the eff up and not be hideous, but the train keeps flying towards the crash and ultimate wreckage. It can't be stopped. It just steam rolls ahead to shittiness.

And then it got worse.

I had pretty much turned off all the lights because they were so unbelievably bright my sensitive, non-caffeinated eyes couldn't take the exposure. When Mr. U got up, he started to turn on the lights. "No lights," I almost screached. "Well, what about if I put them on the dimmer..." "No lights," I said again firmly. "Whaaaaat-eeverrr," he mumbled and closed the door to the bathroom.

Oh....shit. I'd finally done it. I'd finally gone and shown my true colors, my worst version of myself, to Mr. U, and lets be honest - it was not a pretty sight.

When I finally got ready, I basically tapped my feet and looked at Mr. U and said: "Well aren't you going to walk me to the door?" "Yes! Yes, I was! I just didn't know you were ready." "I'm ready," I said. And I was. I was ready to get the eff out of there and get some coffee. (Mr. U doesn't drink coffee or tea and therefore had no stimulants what so ever in the apartment. This is the kind of lifestyle that makes me wonder if he is in fact a real live living breath human being because I of course am made up of 35% coffee surging through my veins, internal organs and skin pores at all times. At. all. times.)

"Good luck today" he said as he kissed me goodbye. "I don't need luck," I answered as I stepped out into the morning. "I just need coffee." The door shut behind me.

So what happened next? I got some coffee. A lot of coffee. I went to work. And I worked - hard - like super hard- (out of necessity) - for several hours. Finally I took another coffee break (okay I know I have a real problem but please don't judge me right now I'm baring my heart out here for you people) with one of my co-workers. I slumped into a chair in our lounge and it dawned on me. I was a bitch. I was a total and utter bitch. I was and am a complete fucking bitch. I have this perfect man. Who treats me like ridiculously amazing. Who is completely patient and kind and wonderful. And I go all bat shit crazy mega-bitch on him. Fuck me. Fuck my life. I'm a bitch. Fuck.

"What am I going to do?" I basically yelped to my co-worker. "What. am. I. going. to. do.? My perfect man has finally seen that I am a totally ridiculously bitchy awful person and I am never going to hear from him again. I am like, totally fucked. "

"T," she said calmly. "You're being overdramatic. Per usual. You probably weren't that bad." (Oh but we all know now that I was). "I'm sure you'll get some cute, sweet email or text from him in the next couple of hours and all will be forgotten." "You think so?" I asked desperately. "I do," she said.

But I didn't. I didn't get an email or a text or a phone call. It was silent.

Which was unusual for Mr. U who usually sent me an email or a text, albeit short and to the point, about every morning. "Have a good day." "Hope you are having a good day." "I'm thinking of you." "Looking forward to seeing you later." And so on. But this morning...and then this afternoon...for the first time. I got nothing. Nadda. Zilch. Zippidee-doo-dah-day. And I can't blame the guy. Like I said, I was a bitch. I wouldn't wanna talk to me either.

As the longest day I'd experienced in an even longer time ticked painstakingly by, tick-tock, tick-tock, minute by minute, hour by hour...I realized I would have to be the one to initiate contact. And apologize. Like really apologize.

So I did. I got on the computer and typed out the following email. "I'm sorry if I was cranky this morning. I. was and am. exhausted. But that's no excuse. Hope you are having a good and productive day and managing to stay awake yourself. T."

To which he replied, several hours later the following: "No worries about this morning. You are more than welcome (you are invited!) to stay again tonight."

To which I replied: "I think we need a good night sleep OR we will kill each other and all possibility of future sleepovers. It's hard sleeping with someone new initially."

To which he replied: "Agreed."

There you have it. The rose colored glasses came off. For both of us. I say with certainty that not everything is greener on the couple side of the grass. For example, sharing a bed sucks. At least at first. (I'll let you know if it gets any better in the future). And if you've read any of my earlier pre-Unicorn era posts when I talked about being single - spreading out over my entire cozy, deliciously soft and endlessly large bed - is and remains my favorite thing about being it. I love to sleep. I love to sleep long and often. And I prefer to sleep alone.

When I saw Mr. U later that evening, I apologized again for my childlike tantrums and he waved his hand in the air nonchalantly and assured me: "You really weren't that bad. I completely understand what you were saying about the lights. I really think you think you're less of a good person than you are sometimes."

Liar. He's a liar. I was awful. He knows it. And I know it. But he didn't want to upset me. He didn't want to dwell on it. And we both wanted to move on. After all, developing any kind of a relationship between two people (since no two people are exactly alike) requires ample amounts of patience, understanding and forgiveness. In this case, Mr. U displayed all three. And I couldn't be more thankful for that.

And he's lucky he did. Because not long thereafter, he needed a little patience, understanding and forgiveness, from yours truly.