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April 3, 2001

Ethan was supposed to come over tonight for dinner and a movie, but he called an hour before and said he couldn't make it.  He apologized over and over, but said he had promised his friend he'd help him move.  And of course I got all snippy, not understanding who the person is that moves at 9pm at night.  Because surely it would be difficult to move a couch without sunlight.

I mean, if I were to be honest, I guess we need a break.  I don't need a break.  I'll cling to him forever.  I never need a break from him.  But, it's been a few weeks now.  I'm sure he needs to breathe.  Guys always need to breathe more than girls do.  More than me, anyway.

And the last thing I wanna do is to blow it all now.  I'm supposed to be all understanding.  Why of course you can go and help out your poor sunlight challenged friend.

 

Of course you can, even though I already have two pounds of shrimp defrosting in the sink because I was gonna make dinner for us and if this was a movie the women in the audience would be screaming "Lame!  Lame!  Lame excuse!"

No, no, you're my man and I care about you and I trust you, so go right your merry little way and lift those boxes and bump into the walls because it's nightime and nobody really moves into a new place at night.  

But that's not what I do.  I snap.  "Who the hell moves their couch at night!"  And as soon as I snap, I hear silence on the other end.  Shit.  Now I've done it.  Of course I've done it.  It's me, it's always me, of course.  I ruin everything.  Now I'm the one apologizing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it.  He says it's okay.  What else can he say?  He can't say the truth:  "Gee you're a bitch and I didn't see it so good-bye forever."  He says he'll try and come over when it's all over.  I tell him I'll put the shrimp in the fridge for tomorrow, and off he goes.