Memories from facebook

I logged onto facebook and this 'memory' was posted. I did blog daily back then. This post made me laugh. It kind of made me want to cry because I know the final ending with this boy. Anyway, I thought you might like it.

Rewind. I get the text that my ex wants me to come over. I was in a dilemma. He doesn't know about my alopecia. He doesn't know I've been wearing a wig. He just knows me and my messy hair. He's teased me about my tangles. I could've styled it. He would probably never notice my hair is balding in the front. Or maybe he would notice?

Then I decided to wear that f-ing wig. I've told everyone else. It's time to tell the man in my life. My mom knows about him. I don't even have to tell her I'm going to meet him. I'm glad I live in a time when I'm allowed to leave the house to have an intimate encounter with a man. She knows we our a secret. She always does her best to tell me to stay home. I always go. That night I made her help me with the wig. I told her to pin that f-er like she's never pinned before. I lost count how many bobby pins I used. By the time I got it on a nuclear blast couldn't have knocked my wig off.

I was a nervous wreck. I stopped by the liquor store and bought him a bottle of jager. We always drink it. I hate the shit. But, it doesn't feel like a trip to his house without it. I didn't know how he would react to the wig. He just says what he's thinking. He has no censor. There is no filter on his mouth. I arrived. The kitchen light was off. I went straight to the cabinet for a shot glass. I didn't see one so I just grabbed a small wine glass. I poured myself a glass of jager and walked into the living room. Just waiting for his reaction.
As soon as he saw me, he just stared at me. "I like the hair." I pause, take a deep breath and ask him "Do you really like it? Does it really look good?" He tells me he really likes it. I tell him "It's not real" He looks confused. I explain that I have a medical condition and my hair is falling out. I explain that I'm not bald but that I can't style my real hair anymore. I like it that he didn't mumble out something like "I'm sorry." He still looked confused he says "so, that's a wig?" I say yes dear, I'm wearing a wig. I ask him if he saw me out in public would he be able to tell my hair is a wig? He says no. I blabber when I'm nervous. He just stared at me. All he could say was "I like it."

It almost felt like he was really looking at me for one of the first times. I sipped my jager while he stared at me. I break the silence by telling him he can't pull my hair anymore. He is concerned. I assure him that my wig isn't going anywhere unless he yanks it. The we just talk.

I find out all about the girl that stole his heart. I hit the nail on the head when I wished that everything that came out of her mouth made him cringe. She had a strong New York accident. She had a baby's daddy in prison. She dumped him a few days before he would be released. He looked broken. He admitted he fell in love with her. He just looked at me and said "I learned that my heart isn't dead after all." I just sipped my jager and let him talk. I hadn't eaten. I got super tipsy really quick. I just curled up in his lap. I told him I was sorry. I told him that it may not have ended well but at least he had the experience. In some kind of manly rebellion he stopped shaving. He looked like a mountain man. Like he belonged on some oil rig in alaska.

We rarely kiss. We're like an old married couple. I tell him I want him to kiss me. He says "I'm a terrible kisser." I tell him "I know." He kisses like a middle school k**. He has no idea what to do with his tongue. I kiss him anyway. I take it real slow. I treasure his awkward tongue in my mouth. The feel of his beard on my face. We just kissed. Fast Forward. By now, I'm drunk. I have a memory of standing topless in front of him. One hand holding my massive tits, the other hand holding my wine glass of jager. I stood there topless in a wig. I felt strange. I felt confident. I'm glad that sex wasn't an option. It is God's will that I bleed like I've been stabbed in the uterus when he calls me for company. Fate makes me smile.

I don't remember passing out. All I know is that at some point he went up to bed and I curled up on that foul leopard couch. At some point I took off my wig. F-ck at some point I took off my panties. I hope I didn't do a little dance. I hope I waited till he was upstairs to take off my wig. I just woke up with my wig loosely laying on my head. I saw his neighbors when I left that morning. I had my wig in my hand and my panties attached to my shoe

The final conclusion. God this hurts so bad to read four years later. I'll never forget standing there topless drinking jager. He wouldn't text me back for about two weeks after that night. I finally got him on the phone and he said 'you don't remember anything?' I said 'no.' He busted out with 'you peed on my rug.' I asked him where? He told me, 'right in front of the tv.' My mind was raising because I woke up with dry jeans and panties so I did not just piss my pants. We never discussed the incident again. I can only assume I walked in front of the tv, pulled down my jeans and panties and hovered over his carpet to pee. Good Times. After that, I was banned from drinking jager at his house ever again.