Why I Can’t Be Your Mr. Big
I love Sex and the City. It reminds me of my little web series, Sex, Shoes and Unicorns. But sorry, I can’t be your Mr. Big. Why? I have ten good reasons why. Now, where should I start?
Reason # 1: I can’t be your Mr. Big because, well.. because you’re not Carrie and this isn’t a television show. Let’s face it, Carrie is hot. She dresses well, her makeup is flawless and she’s got great legs.
Equally important is the fact that I’m not a millionaire like Mr. Big. Well…I’m sort of lying to you. See, it’s really not that superficial. It’s deeper than that. See, the behavior that you believe is quirky comes across as drama. It’s not cute.
And the lines you recite from the television show over and over again have started to bore the shit out of me. Don’t get me wrong, I do love you. But life isn’t a television show and I haven’t the necessary bank account to fly to Paris to save you (once again) from another bad relationship, post me.
I’m sure you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I do love you. But if you want me to be Mr. Big, as least try to be like Carrie — get a job. Pay your own way. Hey, Carrie buys her own Manolo Blahnik’s and Jimmy Choo’s.
Each time we start to get closer and have “the talk” about a long term relationship, the things that come out of your mouth all have to do with a new and sudden fiscal responsibility I have.
I’m sorry, was paying your rent a part of the package? Did I unconsciously agree to fund your manicure/pedicures for the rest of my life? I’m sure I didn’t sign up for that.
I know, I know, I know. You’re looking for that all-consuming, inconvenient, gotta have you love. So am I. I think the difference is, I know I have to work for it, and I’m prepared to do just that.
Are you certain you’re ready to put in the effort on your part to get what you need? Love is a two-way street. I’m not concerned about your ability to recognize and explain to me what I need to do. What concerns me is, do you know what you need to do?
Furthermore, and quite frankly, I’m tired of getting dumped by you. The roller coaster, up and down syndrome we’ve been caught up in is ridiculous. You love me. You love me not. You love me. You love me not.
Oh, and the old boyfriend who you’ve kept in the wings? I know about him, too. I didn’t know at first but I don’t remain stupid and clueless for long. You let him hang around, sniffing around, until you finally made up your mind. No, please don’t try to deny it. It’s true.
Yes, I agree…I was mixed up in some pretty confusing sh*t myself and it deeply affected you. I did that. I confess to that. And I am sorry for that. But you never had to wonder if I had something on the side. If you did wonder it was because of some f–ked up emotional baggage you had that preceded me.
I didn’t have a Plan B. You were my one and only plan. Even if things got f–ked up (which they did), you were it. But you had that old boyfriend on a short leash, standing their like a d*ck-in-a-box. “Break glass, pull d*ck, welcome new boyfriend.”
I know you feel as thought I neglected you because I never took you any place (and that’s a lie but we’ll go with the lie for the sake of expediting this disagreement). You knew when we met that I wasn’t a dancing fool. I don’t do clubs. I’m over forty, sweetie.
I have no intention of being the old guy at the club! We couldn’t hang out with your friends because they didn’t like me, and you always felt uncomfortable around my friends. So we did the DVD thing. We did picnics, which I thought were romantic.
I rented movies that I only wanted to watch with you. But it wasn’t like I would never take you out. Ever. Such an assumption would be completely wrong.
But the thing that sticks out the most: Carrie knows what she wants, and even if she doesn’t know what she wants, she at least knows that. Does that make sense? When Carrie knew what she wanted, she did something special: she said it. She didn’t mime it. She didn’t call in a Tarot card reader.
She didn’t use smoke & mirrors or hand signals. She didn’t write a cryptic note. She didn’t ask a friend to interpret. She didn’t expect the man to guess or absorb through osmosis. She just said it.
For someone who can get really pissed off because I didn’t do a certain thing, you sure did wimp out when it came time to ask for exactly what you wanted. Why? What’s up with that? Isn’t asking the best way to get what you want?
That’s why I cannot be your Mr. Big. Sorry.
Angelo Bell | Elite.
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