I had never bowled angry before.
It was Valentine’s Day, and I was on a date that included another couple and a few of my boyfriend’s buddies. A romantic Valentine’s date it was not. We had been drinking watered-down beer and bowling for around a hundred hours and I had heard enough “Valentine’s Day is such a waste” comments to know there weren’t any Valentine’s kisses, chocolates, or cards on the horizon for me.
I probably wouldn’t have been angry if this hadn’t been our first Valentine’s Day, or if I had received a previous indication of my boyfriend’s feelings, or if I hadn’t arrived at his house and given him a huge hug, a card, a gift and tried to go for a possible V-Day quickie and been denied. When I sat on his lap to give him a little Valentine’s kiss, he abruptly got up and said, “We better get going to dinner so we can get a table,” causing me to nearly fell face-first on his cold hardwood floor. (So much for wearing an uncomfortably scratchy red thong. I should have kept it in my purse until I needed it).
I made it through our pizza dinner without bursting into tears or trying to put him in a choke hold. It was a blur of eating, making small talk, getting angry, drinking, not getting hugged, getting angrier, not getting kissed, and then finally landing at the bowling alley where I was at the height of my anger and taking it out on Lane 12. I marched up to the ball rack, grabbed the first ball in sight, flung it as far down the lane as I could and stalked back to my seat to sit and silently stew.
Unfortunately I lack the emotional range and maturity to pull off a good pout. I strongly suspect my mom had an affair with a passionate Italian man who gave me my loud mouth and lack of emotional boundaries. But I was trying out a new mature, graceful approach that did not include grabbing him by the ear and going lane-to-lane to tell everyone what a shit my boyfriend was being on Valentine’s Day.
About halfway through the second game, the only one who didn’t know I was pissed (or was choosing to ignore it) was my boyfriend, who was drinking like it was his last night before he checked into rehab.
We closed down the bowling alley and I drove us home in silence. When we got home, he disappeared for a few minutes and I suspected that he was throwing up (how else could this magical night end?) As it turned out, he was down in the basement retrieving my Valentine’s gift which included chocolates and a spa certificate. I call this the Valentine’s Buzzer Beater because while he was off collecting these goodies for me, I was practicing my break-up speech. It didn’t erase all of my anger, but the thought of a soothing massage did definitely ease some of the tension.
A few weeks later, we had the anticipated (by women) and dreaded (by men) DTR (Define the Relationship) chat. The good tidings the spa certificate and chocolates had provided only lasted so long before my woman instincts took over and harassed me into casually broaching the subject one night.
“So my friends were asking me where our relationship stood and I didn’t know what to tell them. Gosh, they are SO nosy sometimes! But it does bring up a good point… where do you think we stand? Just in case they ask again. You know how nosy they are.”
He struggled to say what his feelings were for me outside of the fact that he thought I was really nice and very funny. For the record, being told you are “nice and funny” are two of the three Relationship Kisses of Death (being a “great friend” is the third). I knew I was on a sinking ship but continued to try throwing water overboard even though all I had was a shot glass.
