How I Know Your Boyfriend is An Asshole
Why assholes travel in packs and what to do if you ever encounter them in the wild
So I have a girlfriend, we’ll call her Kristy. Kristy is a stunningly beautiful woman. She’s 40 but could easily pass for 27. With shiny blonde hair, porcelain skin, and a tall waif-like frame, she’s every man’s Perfect 10. She soft-spoken but not a wall flower, fun to be around, and super relaxed. There’s something special about Kristy’s energy where she commands everyone’s attention when she’s in a room with just her presence.
Kristy is in the middle of a divorce. She was with the same guy for more than a decade, a marriage that from what I understand was filled with mistrust and accusations on his side. Kristy was always being questioned about the clothes she wore, the places she went, the people she hung out with. Kristy’s husband would start a fight if she wanted to stay up and play video games, insisting she go to bed at the same time he did. Kristy’s husband seemed to be an insecure asshole.
Kristy was now a full fledged card carrying member of Stupidbitchism.
Excited to be on her own, Kristy tells me that she’s going to stay single for awhile, just focus on herself and enjoy her new life. Two weeks out, and she’s met someone. He’s crazy hot and the sex is unbelievable. They have a lot of fun together. They have a lot of sex together. But sometimes he acts a little shady. He disappears for weeks at a time. He talks shit to her if she goes out. He bails on plans so he can hang with his boys. But it’s just fun and casual, so it’s no big deal.
Next time I see her, he’s her boyfriend. Now she likes him, she’s invested, and the sex is still otherworldly. But his misbehaving has hit a new bar. He ditches her every weekend to go out with the guys. She’s convinced he’s fucking other women during his ghosting spells. He’s got a coke problem that’s a little more than occasional. He begs her to help him quit, then ropes her into doing it with him. From all the signs, he’s a classic co-dependent narcissist. But he’s still a little fun, and the sex is still good, so she stays. This is when I knew Kristy was now a full fledged card carrying member of Stupidbitchism.
There is nothing about my appearance that says Down To Fuck.
Then one night Kristy calls me up. New BF is blowing her off again; let’s go out. A few hours later, new BF isn’t bailing so let’s make it a group thing. After my years of dating a King Douche myself, I bow out gracefully and tell her to enjoy a night out with her man. But nooooo. She told him I was coming so he invited some friends; she says “Just come out with us for a few drinks: the guys can hang out and the girls can talk”. I begrudgingly swap my cat hair covered tights for a fresh pair of yogis and slide on my Chucks. There is nothing about my appearance that says Down To Fuck.
I meet them at the bar, and it takes 30 seconds to know this wasn’t going to be cute. Kristy and her BF greet meet, attached at the hip. I’m immediately aware that he won’t be leaving her side for the remainder of the evening. He has two friends there: one sitting at the bar banging away on a machine and another bouncing back and forth between the table and bar top. The one pacing has a drawl, a slower cadence to his speech, and I can’t place if its an authentic accent or he’s just kinda slow. He drones on and on about how much money they’re spending, how much money he has, and how everything should be free. I’m watching silently, trying to decide how long I can abide this behavior before I am forced to dip. This is a local bar, filled with bartenders and staff that I know and who know me. It is the kiss of death to be associating with entitled pricks who think they’re spending money when, in reality, they aren’t. It reflects poorly on me from a personal and professional standpoint, and I’m mortified.
…if she fell for his shit then, she’ll fall for some other asshole’s too.
I order a beer and some food, already resolute that I’m leaving in under an hour. I try to engage with the BF, get to know him, find a vein of common interest. Quickly the conversation turns to my profession as a bartender. He hangs out in bars a lot, he knows a lot of people, and I look familiar. I probably like to hang out in bars too. But his view on women at the bar, the kind of men who hang out in bars, situations that arise at the bar let me know this conversation is tactical. His woman won’t be going to bars, even my own. He’s not going to allow it. She’s too nice, too friendly. He insists that she doesn’t know what she’s doing. He knows how men act, how they think; he can’t even trust his friends around her. He makes sure I know that if she and I are going to be friends, I won’t be taking her anywhere where she can interact with other men unless he’s right by her side. What he really meant is HE is one of those guys. HE hangs out in bars, HE fucks strangers, HE is the sleaziest of sleazes and if she fell for his shit then, she’ll fall for some other asshole’s too.
Being the loud, aggressive, bitter bitch that I am, this would have been an excellent opportunity for me to deconstruct his overtly macho facade and highlight the truth in this situation: new BF is just another lying, womanizing, insecure asshole who is going to control Kristy while he continues to live his same lifestyle of whores and drugs, leading her down the rabbit hole of inconsistency and gaslighting, pulling her farther in every time he pushes her away, alienating her from her friends by dictating her every move, making her unsure of her own feelings and thoughts by validating her love with false words and decent dick.
…here he is, standing too close to me, leering at me like I’m a hot pastrami sandwich.
But I didn’t get a chance to do that because entitled asshole #2 lost his $13 on caveman keno and here he is, standing too close to me, leering at me like I’m a hot pastrami sandwich. I know I’m making that surly expression I get when I’m disgusted (reference 365 Days). He’s got me pinned in a corner, back against the wall. Intimidating me is the first of many steps in our lovestory, so personal space be damned. A lesser woman would’ve played the shrinking violet but he’s read me all wrong, or didn’t read me at all so I let him continue. He presses up against my chair, looming over me. He takes my hand and puts it in his, as if he knows how much I hate physical contact, but he’s going to give it to me anyway. He begins to talk about me in third person, not directly to me, as if im just an inanimate object sitting there, an empty chair to hang his coat. He tells Kristy’s new BF I’m just his type cuz he’s a big boy and he likes his girls thick. Then he makes eye contact with me.
“I’m not trying to be rude little mama, but you’re a thick woman, and I like thick. I don’t like them like that, skinny,” and he points to Kristy. Kristy is the size I was in 4th grade and could be smuggled in a standard carry-on bag while I choose to walk my dogs alone at night because it would take four full size men to try to abduct me. I’m not offended, just bemused, so I let him go on. “You ain’t gonna throw a chick like this around but me, 270 pounds, I’ll throw her around all day.” He makes eye contact again, “I’m just saying, I don’t chase but if you wanted the dick, you could get it.”
…my mouth opens, the place where I store all of my rage, disgust, and hatred…
I’m smiling at this point, and I can see how that might look: like this is cute, like I’m having a good time, like I might be interested. But in fact, that is incorrect. I am amused, biding my time and waiting for my moment, when this mother fucker is so far into his speech that he thinks he has me hooked. And that is when I turn up the corners of my grin, and the gaping hole I call my mouth opens, the place where I store all of my rage, disgust, hatred, my foul mouthed epithets for the other sex, and I let them fly like an F5 tornado. Hold on Dorothy, this shits about to get real.
“I think it’s really fucking funny how a man who is so secure in himself has to spend the whole fucking night talking about how much money he has, because he has literally nothing else to offer a woman. Doth protesteth too much that you can get pussy whenever you want. You must be paying for it with all that money you think you have. I think it’s really fucking funny that you see a woman, a complete stranger, who in no way gives you the impression that she might be the slightest bit interested, but you engage anyway. You choose to invade her personal space, tear her down by picking apart her most obvious physical flaws, then flip the script by pointing out that while other men don’t like that, you’re different. In fact what you mean is I’m fat but you’ll fuck me anyways, when other men won’t, so I’m welcome. If I ask nicely, pretty fucking please, will you fuck me sir, you might be able to fit it into your pussy pulling, money making schedule.”
Men who respect women don’t act like this.
Newsflash everyone. Men who respect women don’t act like this. Men who have money don’t demand shit for free. And any man who has friends who behave this way, surrounds himself with such lowly and disgusting examples of masculinity, are cut from the same cloth. Pieces of shit run in packs. But the one thing that struck me as the saddest part of the entire interaction is that men wouldn’t behave like this if it didn’t work. That means that fat boy has run this same version of misogynistic verse on some stupid bitch previously and managed to get his dick sucked. This embarrasses me as a woman and for all other women.
We need to do better ladies. This is the day and age of high grade silicone and rechargeable batteries. We don’t need to be disrespected for six minutes of thrusting in the back of a lifted Chevy by a dick smaller than a tootsie roll. This is a call to action for every woman reading this: Stop the cycle of Stupidbitchism today. And the next time a man backs you into a corner and touches you without your consent, remember what the Bitter Bitch says:
Men who don’t want to get stabbed don’t stand so close.