I am cool. It's what everyone says about me, and the one thing I know about myself. Though I may occasionally be weird, awkward and spazzy, the fundamental truth about max is that I am cool as shit.
It stands to reason then that I make a pretty cool girlfriend. I don’t nag, I almost never yell, and I don’t give a good goddamn whether the toilet seat is up or down. I fuck with the lights on, have never said “No. That’s nasty” and you don’t have to sleep over if you don’t want to. I don’t get mad over dumb shit, and I would never leave a man for cheating. I have a life and encourage Mr. Max to have one too and I neither expect my man to read my mind, nor get angry at him when he fails to do so. To put it short,
I got it made. I have always been the coolest girlfriend ever.
Until that one time my boyfriend touched a stripper’s tits and all hell broke loose.
See what had happened was this Mr. Max went to a strip club for his boy’s birthday. And lap dances were only $5. So he got ten of them. That niggled at me a little bit but I could have let it go. But then…then he said “and she let me play with her nipple ring” and the world went black.
Let me tell you something real: such a wave of white-hot rage passed over me that it’s a good thing this conversation took place over the phone across a vast distance. Because some people would have got hurt that night. I’m not a violent person, nor am I a particularly strong one. But I would have choked the shit out of that man that day and I really don’t think any jury in the world would convict me for it.
Hopped up on righteous indignation, I turned to my closest girlfriends for support. But instead I drew back a nub. Expecting them to be incensed on my behalf, when I told them “Mr. Max felt a stripper’s titties and I am pissed” I was met with a confused “but why?”. And despite a litany of reasons why this act of Mr. Max’s was so egregious as to have me up half the night stewing in my juices, they each staunchly refused to see my point of view.
Sidenote: I am purposely leaving my litany of reasons why this act was fucked up out of my post. Not because I no longer believe them (I do) but because I don’t think you guys will so I’d rather save the keystrokes. But if you want to know what they were I will happily share.
And so, left with no one to support my anger and a phone suspiciously devoid of impassioned pleas for forgiveness, I had no choice to but to spend some time with my thoughts and figure out what I was going to do and why I was so fucking mad. Finally I realized it – the reason I was so fucking mad was that I was so fucking MAD. I was as angry at myself for not being cool about the touching of the titties as I was about the actual touching. My “coolest girlfriend ever” crown had been snatched from my head and that thought was way more distressing than the mental picture of Mr. Max diddling someone else’s nipple ring.
Although let me tell you – that mental picture was disturbing as fuck.
For most of the day I stewed and raged. I bitched, I rationalized, I smoked furiously. And at the end of the day I had to accept the obvious conclusion: I am not the coolest girlfriend ever. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still awesome. And I’m probably still cooler than your girl. But if I am the kind of girl who flies into a rage because her boyfriend squeezed a stripper’s titties, I am officially no longer the coolest girlfriend in the world. And I’m okay with that.
But what say you guys? Ladies do you consider yourself a cool girlfriend? Would you be mad if your boyfriend diddled a stripper’s tits? Men – would you expect your girl to be cool in this situation? Speak on it in the comments.