I accidentally kicked a British guy in the nuts on the American Fourth of July.
Well, it was more of a Freudian slip of the foot. He’s the guy who slept with me a few times, made passes on many other occasions, too, yet told me he isn’t interested in pursuing any sort of monogamous anything with anyone. He insists he feels terrible about what he did and that he wants to continue being friends, but it’s hard watching or hearing about him treating other women the way he treated me. He talked about an encounter with another woman he rejected earlier in the party. He said he couldn’t understand why she was upset with him–basically, he treated her about as well as any mediocre boyfriend would, she took it to heart, and he continued screwing other women and possibly called her a whore (supposedly she was a prostitute) and may have asked her to leave after she lived with him and his roommate for a month. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know she was upset about it the last time I saw her, and I overheard him telling someone she was upset when she saw him at a festival. Anyway, if anything triggered an accidental nutting of a smug, self-centered Brit on the day our nation declared independence from tyranny at home and abroad, it was his actions and words.
While I know she made several bad decisions–as humans, it is a problem we all face–it wasn’t his place to treat her like a person then treat her like garbage. Or to treat me the same way. Or any woman. Since I can’t find a suitable alternative to where I live now, I’m trying to get over his being a nice asshole and make the most of what is available. I like the friends I made through him. His roommate is kind of a space cadet, but he is pleasant. When he isn’t working on being a scourge to womankind, my British neighbor is an okay guy.
Again, it was an accident. I may talk a big talk about being aggressive and wanting to beat people up sometimes, but I really do hate hurting people, physically or emotionally. Sure, most of the time I think he deserves to have his ass kicked, but I would prefer if someone else did the kicking. It hurts me when I have to be mean to someone. I’ve tried holding a grudge before. All it did was hurt me until I felt like a ball of misery. When I finally confronted the sources of my anguish, all I felt was pity for their inability to perceive how shallow they were and a revelation about how many hours and days and years I spent kicking a mirage. One of them asked me to forgive her–in a very public, self-serving sort of way–and I did. I did because I realized the effort to hate wasn’t worth it.