In the archives of my mind, is a file marked "MISTAKES MADE", and every so often I thumb through it's contents and remind myself not to repeat them. One of the worst mistakes I've ever made is looking for dirt....and finding it.
When D and I were still together back in California one winter, he decided to go on a trip to Vegas for All Star weekend. At the time I was 22 and he was 27, and the club scene was still a very strong presence in both our lives. Neither of us were INTO clubs in a big way, but we still went every so often without each other to let loose with our respective clan of friends. Nothing wrong with that. The thing is when the words "Vegas" and "All Star weekend" and "My friend B" came together in his sentence, a thousand thoughts began to flutter through my brain. One of them was the fact that although things between us were "fine", they could have been better, and maybe he was trying to get away from me on a subconscious level. Then I thought about how All Star weekend has a reputation for bringing EVERY one-night-stand seeking hootchie to the desert ready to leave what happens there buried in the sand. THEN I thought about the fact that D's friend B was single and free to mingle and I hardly believed for a second that he wasn't planning on using D as his wing man.
Well, even though I was getting heart palpitations and cold sweats, I tried to play it cool. I dropped my beloved off at the San Francisco airport, gave him a kiss and playfully reminded him to be good. We had something of an agreement, no over-drinking, and call me and let me know your ok. While he was gone I distracted myself by staying mostly over my best friend Theresa's house and putting myself to sleep in our empty bed aided by a bottle of white.
When I picked him back up from the airport, I expected a colorful story about his adventures in Vegas with the boys. He mentioned that he did some gambling and "No" they didn't hang out with any girls while he was there. I know that as boyfriends go I was lucky enough to get a damn good one, but even I'M not that stupid. He was hiding something and simultaneously playing me for a complete fool. My blood began to boil.
Well, weeks and weeks passed and I found a way to put my doubts to the back of my mind until one night when D went to finish up his laundry. "You wanna come, Boogie?" he asked. But I was tired and already into whatever show was on TV, so I politely declined. He left to go down the hall to put his load in. Now I know that in real life things like microwaves and vacuum cleaners cannot talk (unless your on PCP or shrooms) and no "thing" can actually call your name....but I swear as I sat on the couch across from where D had his phone plugged into the charger I distinctly heard..." Ashhhleeeyyyyy....Ashhhllleeyyyyy....." I shook the idea off and reminded myself that D loved me, and it could be very well possible that he had a stale, boring vacation in Vegas. Surrounded by scantly clad gold diggers. And his playerific friend. Hundreds of miles away. Filled to the brim with alcohol and testosterone.....
I quickly put the phone back where I'd found it and prepared to smile when D returned home. Later that week I found a way to finagle another chance for D to come clean. "I still can't believe how boring your trip to Vegas was, babe. I mean, if I was in Vegas with my girls I'd be flirting my ass off and scoring some free drinks!" He laughed and kissed my cheek as if I were some kind of rug rat on "Kids Say the Darnedest Things", and simply replied, "Nope, it was a good trip. Just low key." I pressed harder. "Your not afraid to tell me about the girls you met, because you think I'll get mad are you?" Again, D gave me his best chuckle. "Boogie, the only girl I met out there was this big fat chick that B and them dared me to go up and talk to outside one of the casinos one night." I dropped it.
When D and I were still together back in California one winter, he decided to go on a trip to Vegas for All Star weekend. At the time I was 22 and he was 27, and the club scene was still a very strong presence in both our lives. Neither of us were INTO clubs in a big way, but we still went every so often without each other to let loose with our respective clan of friends. Nothing wrong with that. The thing is when the words "Vegas" and "All Star weekend" and "My friend B" came together in his sentence, a thousand thoughts began to flutter through my brain. One of them was the fact that although things between us were "fine", they could have been better, and maybe he was trying to get away from me on a subconscious level. Then I thought about how All Star weekend has a reputation for bringing EVERY one-night-stand seeking hootchie to the desert ready to leave what happens there buried in the sand. THEN I thought about the fact that D's friend B was single and free to mingle and I hardly believed for a second that he wasn't planning on using D as his wing man.
Well, even though I was getting heart palpitations and cold sweats, I tried to play it cool. I dropped my beloved off at the San Francisco airport, gave him a kiss and playfully reminded him to be good. We had something of an agreement, no over-drinking, and call me and let me know your ok. While he was gone I distracted myself by staying mostly over my best friend Theresa's house and putting myself to sleep in our empty bed aided by a bottle of white.
When I picked him back up from the airport, I expected a colorful story about his adventures in Vegas with the boys. He mentioned that he did some gambling and "No" they didn't hang out with any girls while he was there. I know that as boyfriends go I was lucky enough to get a damn good one, but even I'M not that stupid. He was hiding something and simultaneously playing me for a complete fool. My blood began to boil.
Well, weeks and weeks passed and I found a way to put my doubts to the back of my mind until one night when D went to finish up his laundry. "You wanna come, Boogie?" he asked. But I was tired and already into whatever show was on TV, so I politely declined. He left to go down the hall to put his load in. Now I know that in real life things like microwaves and vacuum cleaners cannot talk (unless your on PCP or shrooms) and no "thing" can actually call your name....but I swear as I sat on the couch across from where D had his phone plugged into the charger I distinctly heard..." Ashhhleeeyyyyy....Ashhhllleeyyyyy....." I shook the idea off and reminded myself that D loved me, and it could be very well possible that he had a stale, boring vacation in Vegas. Surrounded by scantly clad gold diggers. And his playerific friend. Hundreds of miles away. Filled to the brim with alcohol and testosterone.....
I'll just look in the Inbox.
I scrolled through to the February texts and started skimming for anything out of bounds. I flipped through about 5 messages and started to feel like a true psycho bitch when I saw it. "Really? Hows she looking?" from B. I stared at it for what seemed like hours while my face drained itself of color and blood. I laughed to myself. That could mean anything! So I took my sleuthing a step further. I checked the Sent folder. I went to the matching date and time as the mysterious culprit to see what D's response was, and there it was. It was just hours before I'd picked him up from the airport and D was at his gate chatting it up with some bitch in line and texting B about how fine she was. UGH!!
I quickly put the phone back where I'd found it and prepared to smile when D returned home. Later that week I found a way to finagle another chance for D to come clean. "I still can't believe how boring your trip to Vegas was, babe. I mean, if I was in Vegas with my girls I'd be flirting my ass off and scoring some free drinks!" He laughed and kissed my cheek as if I were some kind of rug rat on "Kids Say the Darnedest Things", and simply replied, "Nope, it was a good trip. Just low key." I pressed harder. "Your not afraid to tell me about the girls you met, because you think I'll get mad are you?" Again, D gave me his best chuckle. "Boogie, the only girl I met out there was this big fat chick that B and them dared me to go up and talk to outside one of the casinos one night." I dropped it.The thing that made me the most upset wasn't the fact that D saw some cutie in line at the airport and started up a conversation. It wasn't even the fact that he was so enamored by her, apparently, that he absolutely had to report to B and describe what she looked like down to her outfit details. It was the fact that he didn't feel comfortable enough in our relationship to bring something like that up when I specifically asked him if he'd gotten his flirt on. I didn't ask in a threatening manner. I didn't want names. I didn't even CARE. I was just trying to have a casual conversation with the man I loved. The only reason my mind began to wonder in the first place and drive me to do something as low as invade his privacy, was because he acted SO strange about telling me about his trip. I always used to tell D about my nights out, even if he didn't ask. I'd tell him if some guy hit on me, because I thought he got a kick out of hearing how I brushed them off. I made sure that it never seemed like my nights out with friends was separate from our relationship. I wanted him to know that I was the same Boogie he knew even when I was out of sight. It crushed me to know that he could be two faced.
Looking back on all this I realize it was hardly worth the fuss. It wasn't worth getting sauced up on Rum in order to find the nerve to confront him. Screaming at him wildly for hours and telling him how worthless he was, and how now I didn't trust him. I definitely wasn't worth breaking up for a whole day. D talking to that girl meant nothing. He did it probably because that's what you do in Vegas, and maybe a little bit because we were going through a rough patch. He probably didn't tell me for the same reason most men wouldn't tell; because men are idiotic and convince themselves that their "little woman" can't handle the truth. It's pathetic that men lie to themselves about as much as women do. D is and has always been a good man, and I know that the majority of that entire episode was just my own stupid insecurities. Sure it would've been great if D had enough courage and trust to keep it real. But I was lacking the same to go behind his back and check his phone.
The moral? Anyone sneaky enough to REALLY fuck around is sneaky enough to hide the evidence. So anything you MIGHT find is usually not half as bad as what they already deleted. It's simply best to put trust in your man's character and morals. But if you feel the need to pry into your man's personal affects in order to find a truth you feel he doesn't have the balls to confess to, whether big or small (...truth that is, not balls); tell him! Say, "I am feeling insecure about this, even to the point of being tempted to check your shit." It sounds bad, but it's a whole lot better than actually doing it. If he refuses to show proof or tries to avoid talking about it....well, then maybe you would have found what you were looking for. And in that case, what more proof do you really need?
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