For our second date, he told me he was speaking to a crowd and asked, Did I want to come hear him? Turns out it was an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. And I had to help set up. I left and went to a bar about half way through.
Aftermath: He called me the next morning and left a voice mail saying we’d been together long enough and it was time he met my kids. I deleted the message.
He sprawled himself out across our bed and ate an entire box of Ho-Hos and didn’t leave anything for me but the wrappers.
Aftermath: Three or so weeks, just long enough to move out. Of course, that was really just the last straw and not the cause of the end. He was a mama’s boy, through and through. Ugh.
After him pursuing me for a while, I finally agreeing to date him. After a few dates and sex, he suggested I lose weight and then we could decide where the relationship was going.
Aftermath: I ran into him a few times but we never dated or had sex again. He moved across the county soon after.
We were in my kitchen when suddenly a speck of something landed in my eye, which started watering like crazy. I rubbed it, and started moving my eyelids around trying to wash out the offending particle — all the while complaining about how it hurt. Turning toward the light, I asked him to look and see if he could find anything. He chose that most inopportune moment to grab me by my face and plant me with our first kiss: Clumsy, wet, open-mouthed.
Aftermath: We still dated for a while despite that just about everything about him annoyed me, but I cheated on him with my old hottie friend while on vacation.
My boyfriend would regularly and gleefully make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for random homeless drug addicts but wouldn’t make me breakfast–or lunch or dinner for that matter–without a huge fight.
Aftermath: Oddly, he would get angry with me if I made myself food and didn’t share it with him. We lasted a torturous two years.