WebKittyn Warbles
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Dear Mr. President
Dear Mr. President:
My name is Kari. But probably you don’t remember that because your girlfriend’s name was Katie. When I met you, I had been dumped by another President.
I pretty much saw it coming when he neglected to invite me to his mom’s house for Thanksgiving. In fact, I overheard him on the phone telling his mother that he was looking forward to being away from me during the break.
Okay, yeah, so I was eavesdropping at his dorm room door. He had a right to be angry. (It wasn’t the first time I strained at his door, hoping for gossip.)
Instead, I went home with a really nice guy whose family’s kindness still makes me smile. I wonder if they thought that I was his “date” even though he was a close friend with no romantic rumblings.
But then another friend and I attempted to make a Screw the Boys Thanksgiving Dinner at the end of vacation. (Or, maybe I am completely old and have merged two Thanksgivings together in my mind. That’s probably the case. Whatever.)
That friend was your apartment-mate, Mr. President. The first time I met her, she introduced herself saying, “Yeah, I used to be roommates with [the woman who was my current roommate] but we totally didn’t get along. I had to tell her that she’d better behave or I’D CUT HER.”
I remember not being sure if she was really funny or really scary.
But there we were, in your kitchen, making “explosion pumpkin pie,” so named because rather than using powdered pudding mix, we used actual pudding. The result was a creamy, frothy mess of delectable pumpkiny goodness.
(This was a much better result than during the first Thanksgiving I celebrated in New York City years later, when all of Manhattan was out of pumpkin pies and my brother decided that a cheeseburger from Mo’s Caribbean Bar would be a better dinner than something like… turkey.)
When you came home at the end of the weekend, I thought you were pretty cute. Plus, you were the President, at least of your organization.
You asked me out.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked.
You waved your hand dismissively. “Why don’t we just hang out together?”
Next thing I remember, you were trying to put the moves on me as we sat alone in my organization’s TV room.
“What about Katie?”
“What about her?” He leaned in and kissed me.
I kissed back, awkwardly. Guilty. I wasn’t going to be The Other Woman.
And yet, we continued to kiss. And I continued to protest.
You thought my protests were cute. “Don’t worry about Katie. This is just fun. She’s having her own fun back at home.”
I felt bad. And yet, I was lonely. And here, you actually seemed to like me. You were the President of your organization while the people in my organization still had all the gossip about the breakup with the other President.
We went on another “Oh, don’t worry, we’re just friends” date. This time, we ended back at your place.
When your apartment-mate came home, she and I exchanged glances. You decided we’d better move from the living room to your bedroom.
I stiffened. Just kissing, just kissing. But then you tried to rip off my shirt. And started doing other things in that arena. It felt good, and yet it felt bad.
“Katie doesn’t deserve this.” I told him. “This is not fair to her.” I went on to look into your (amazingly beautiful blue) eyes and give an impassioned speech about respect for women.
You turned over, clearly bored out of your mind, and fell asleep, snoring.
My bra and shirt were still half-on, half-off. I snapped and buttoned myself together.
I carefully rolled out of bed so as not to disturb you. I wrote you a little note, nothing of substance.
The weekend was over.
A few days later, I accidentally ran into you. On your arm was a beautiful girl; clearly it was Katie. You and I saw each other, but I saw your brow furrow and your eyes look past me. It was clear that to say “hello” would be a death-sentence.
I quickly looked away and changed my direction so as not to cross your path. I silenced the urge to yell out to Katie what her man had attempted to do. Or done.
We never spoke or saw each other again.
But I heard you married Katie.
And I married a completely different President.
-----------
Looking for WebKittyn? She is hanging out on my couch! I am so happy to have had the time to visit her pad, Webkittyn Warbles.
I am Karianna of the Karianna Spectrum, a ClubMom blog dealing with autistic spectrum disorders; and of Kari’s Couch, a personal blog dealing with whatever is on my mind.
Thank you to WebKittyn for allowing me to borrow her blog today!
Click here to check out the other exchange entries this month, and to get more info on the blog exchange.
-----------
**Postscript from Kittyn: Due to all the chaos in my world over the past two weeks, I totally spazzed and did not manage to get my post done. Please go visit Kari's blog anyway and say hello, let her know you went by. I just couldn't pull it together this month and I am truly sorry for the inconvenience.
<-- Steal me!
