Today is Throwback Thursday and I was going to write about something that requires me to go to a dark recess of my mind, and not that I’m adverse to that, but…time and a place, am I right? And that time and place is late at night, at home, with wine. So instead, since I’m at work, I went for the most vapid topic that popped into my head.
A fight over a phone.
Henry moved in with me a little less than a year after we started dating. (Or, as Henry would say it: “GOYYYYYYNG together.”) Let me just say right there that aside from the occasional house guest overstays, I had always lived alone from the time I moved out of my parents’ house at 18. So here I was, almost 23 and theoretically ready to settle down. Except that I went out of my way to make Henry feel 100% unwelcome. I was so used to being independent, and I didn’t want to give that up. (No really, try to imagine me as an independent person, because that Erin briefly existed.)
For starters, I kicked him out so many times that he kept all of his clothes in garbage bags for at least the first year he “lived” with me. Look, when I was in my 20s, my chemicals were as imbalanced as a J-cup on a 90 pound broad. Like, one time Henry ordered pizza from a place I had never ordered from before (I’m a bitch about pizza) even though I told him, “Hey, here is my list of 2 places you’re allowed to order pizza from.” Anyway, he ordered a pierogi pizza and IT HAD ONIONS ON IT so I flipped over the dining room table.
This was only about 6 months into our relationship, but he stayed, you guys. He stayed. So don’t “Poor Henry” me!
Sometimes, we reminisce about the Early Years and act bewildered over the fact that we made it this long. Granted, we started getting along much better after a while (like, after 6 or 7 years, ha-ha), but it was sketchy there for a time. We both came into this relationship with tons of baggage (who doesn’t though) and I was still basically a kid. So there were a lot of “STOP ACTING LIKE MY DAD!”s being flung around.
Henry had been a resident of Casa d’Erin for a year when we found ourselves in the market for a new cordless phone. According to my 100% fact-based LiveJournal:
I can’t believe I forgot to mention this. When I came home Friday night, Henry was all, “Look at the new phone!” We’ve been in dire need of a new cordless, because the battery kept dying too quickly on the one we have now. I have this thing where I don’t like items being bought for the house until I’m present. I mean, technically, it’s still my house, and I’m really particular with the way things look around here.
The phone he bought was black and red and ugly all over.
I politely asked him to please return it, so that we could both pick out a phone together. (Don’t let him tell you otherwise, either. He likes to portray me as some bitchy domineer who has to have her way. Couldn’t be farther from the truth.)
Back in 2003, I was really into writing myself in the best possible light, so I left out a lot (all) of the *BANG*s *POW*s and *KABLAM*s that you guys totally know burst from my fists the moment Henry introduced some ill-advised purchase to me. I can promise you that the fight we had over a CORDLESS PHONE was explosive, like the phone was a metaphor for another woman. Because sure, I was really concerned about how a PHONE looked in my house. It clashed with my Rugrats clock and The Cure wall-hanging, obviously!
Remember how I told LiveJournal that I wanted Henry to return the phone so that “we could pick out a new one together?” BALD-FACED LIE. Friends, don’t get it twisted: I went ahead and bought a pink Disney princess phone on my own. Is this the one I wanted? NO. I hate Disney shit. But did I want the satisfaction of ridiculing Henry every time he held a pink phone up to his dumb cloth-chapeau’d head, and watched him cringe every time the phone played a different magical tone to announce an incoming call? Magical songs like Bibiddi Bobbidi Boo? FUCK YES.
And it was hilarious to hear Ariel’s sweet, Heavenly harmonies emanating from the pink penis-phone every time Henry’s ex-wife called to roar death threats at him. He was really getting it from all ends, you guys.
That phone was such a piece of shit. Obviously. But at least it was MY PHONE. Thank god I have grown up so much since then. Right, Henry?
This story was dumb. I will try to do better.