PURE GOLD. Relationship warning.

But If We Started Dating It Would Ruin Our Friendship Where I Ask You To Do Things And You Do Them

By Kimberly Pruitt

I really like you. I do. You're so nice, and sweet, and you listen to all my problems and respond with the appropriate compliments. But, well, I don't really see a relationship in our future. It would be terrible if we let sex destroy this great friendship we have where I get everything I want and you get nothing you want. Don't you think?

I knew you would understand. You always do.

We're so perfect as friends, you know? I can tell you anything, and you know you can always come to me anytime you need to hear me bitch about work or how ugly I feel. You wouldn't want to ruin a friendship like that just so you could be my boyfriend, and have me look at you with desire and longing in my eyes, if only once—would you? Of course not. Well, if we started dating, it would only complicate this wonderful setup I've got going here.

It's just…you're like my best friend, and I would hate for something you desperately want to change that. I mean, sure, we could go on some dates, maybe mess around a little and finally validate the six years you've spent languishing in this platonic nightmare, but then what? How could we ever go back to the way we were, where I take advantage of your clear attraction to me so I can have someone at my beck and call? That part of our friendship means so much to me.

No. We are just destined to be really, really good friends who only hang out when I don't have a boyfriend, but still need male attention to boost my fragile and all-consuming ego.

Anything can happen once you bring romance in. Think about how awful my last relationship was at the end, remember? The guy I'd call you crying about at 3 a.m. because he wouldn't answer my texts? The guy I met at the birthday party you threw me? I had insanely passionate sex with him for four months and now we don't even talk anymore. God, I would die if something like that happened to us.

Plus, ick, can you even imagine getting naked in front of each other? I've known you so long, you're more like a brother that I've drunkenly made out with twice and never mentioned again. It'd be way too weird. And if we did, then whenever you'd come shopping with me, or go to one of my performances or charity events, or take me for ice cream when I've had a bad day at work, you'd be looking at me like, "I've seen her breasts." God, I can't think of anything more awkward that that.

Oh, before I forget, my mom says hi.

Anyway, you would totally hate me as your girlfriend. I'd be all needy and dramatic and slowly growing to love you. If I was your girlfriend, I would never be able to tell you all about the other asshole guys I date and pretend I don't see how much it crushes you. Let's never lose that. That's what makes us us.

Don't worry. You're so funny and smart and amazing, any girl but me would be lucky to date you. You'll find someone, I know it. And when you do, I'll be right by your side to suddenly become all flirty and affectionate with you in front of her, until she grows jealous and won't believe it when you say we're just friends. But when she dumps you, that's just what we'll be.

Best friends. Friends forever


Response:

You know, you’re right. It really is better this way. I mean, if we dated, chances are more than likely you wouldn’t live up to the fantasy I’ve built up. We’d date for a while. I’d grow sick of the insecurity stemming from dating a girl I consider “out of my league.” Then, one day, I’d realize that not only do you not respect me, you’ve also been preying on the fact that I’ve forced myself to believe you’re the only one for me. It’ll only get worse from there. I’ll realize that you’re really not that pretty, you’re really not that smart, and you’re really not that interesting. I’ll have no choice but to come to terms with the fact that you’re, at best, a seven. Sevens are good, don’t get me wrong, but a C is still a C… and let’s face it, you’re a real fucking C.

After that I’ll start looking around. Oh sure, I’ll stick around while the sex is still interesting. But it’ll all go back to you not living up to my fantasy version of you. No matter how hard you try, it’ll all come back to me looking down at you and thinking “Is this it?” as I show the same enthusiasm I do when I’m enjoying day-old pizza.

I’ll flirt with other girls; because now they’re interested in a guy they can’t have. My confidence will have increased. I’ll eventually realize that the trick to girls isn’t to date the prettiest or the smartest, just one the other girls are slightly jealous of. Hell, it could be a purse. They’ll see your new bag, find out I gave it to you (in reality long before we ever dated), and want a guy that gives them nice things like me… exactly like me.

Eventually you’ll realize that, now that I’ve got you, I’m losing interest. It wasn’t you I was in love with; it was the idea of you. It was the chase. You’ll become more and more insecure. You’ll complain that I don’t pay enough attention to you. And in the end you’ll realize I’ve become the same jerk I tried so hard to rescue you from. The shame of turning something so good into something so mediocre will gnaw at you until you cheat on me with some new douche. After all, he’s already a jerk and a loser. You didn’t make him that way. He can only get better. At least, that’s what you’ll hope.

The alternative is what? I’ll get angry, a natural reaction to the pain I’m feeling from rejection. My snide remarks will cut away at the eager-to-please impression you have of me. It’ll culminate into one huge fight. You’ll call me an asshole; I’ll call you a bitch. You’ll run to one of the other countless drones waiting to replace me and the whole cycle will start all over. The very friendship you were hoping to retain will be the one you’ve dashed. Maybe things would have been different if you hadn’t let me waste my time chasing something you never intended to give me.

Years later we’ll run into each other somehow. If I’m better off you’ll attribute it to my desire to “make you want me.” If I’m worse off you’ll think my life fell apart and it’s all because I didn’t know how to deal with not having you.
In the end it’s all my fault. I took things too slowly. Sure, there was that moment where you considered dating me; but I was looking away or too afraid to do anything about it. Then I hung around too long hoping to catch a second chance; but we both know it’ll never come. I was my own worst enemy.

Eventually I’ll learn the lesson; but chances are I’ll be so desperate for affection that I’ll wind up marrying the first thing that doesn’t say no. And you, you’ll always hope the jerk you settled for someday becomes as great a guy as I once was… long before I realized you were full of shit.

Vexed and perplexed by your texts
Exasperating eternally flexed
With a tension headache disrespecting in turn
A subliminal lesson you refuse to learn
I'm not pissed but filled up with concern
That you twist it all back to mean the worst
As if your history justifies how you can be terse
It's little things and cosmic strings
That paint this scene with the arrows and slings
Call it indulgence, call it despair
The circle completes as and leaves you unawares
To the chemical stew that manufactures you
Behind your back thieving and punching you blue
A hellish experience is of no consequence when it's
Left in a past without physical prudence
If this choice is made by one who's got none to lose,
What makes you think you can't step in his shoes?
There is no answer, no right and wrong,
Only the ones that sing the most powerful song,
So make up your story and drink up your tipple
Or come to the bridge and jump off the ship
Martyrdom, suicide? Why have the need to hide?
This is all drugs and funeral formaldehyde
In the plastic foreboding of cosmic self loathing
Normal a second ago, then look who decides to show
Toxic shame and blame and moral incorrigables
Who automatically run wild and invisible
And trick you into thinking that you get to say it's so
Let it pull your strings to the point where it's off the rails
And that you have a choice even though your happiness fails
I'm not a liar for turning aside
and standing in the middle to preserve my pride
to not buffet myself from cynic to child
to see myself playing these games all the while
I don't know what's to feel, think or do
But I got a good bearing on when it's controlling you
It's not good for you more or anyone else
And I can deal with your hate by what's left on the shelf
I might be arrogant to change your heart and mind
But you dwell on your hate, that is what you will find
With your thoughts and your words you determine your future
And paint a bloodstained and somber final solution
I live by real optimism and freedom of choice
Even if it's not optional to even have a voice
I'll fight for what's mine, what I want, in my heart
And unify deep inside, every last part.
Not fantasy, dreams or myopic desire
But all terms and parts that come under the wire
Challenge, I'll take it, and fight over again
And then we shall see who is fake and pretend
Not bastards who rape and abuse and pillage me
Spare me their ugliness and negativity
My freedom to choose is inherent neutrality,
long enough to return to tranquility
that's hopefully free of my ego and sanctimony
Sit in your pain without dwelling in hatred, yes
And then boldly go forward to take the next step
If I inspire you to puff out your chest
That's the best blessing a man could get.
Rebound towards whatever is best yet
And a poignant grace, waltz into the sunset.

March into hell, stoic as can be
No chemical conditioned benders in me
My power IS my spirituality
AND IT'S ALL MINE, NOT YOURS!