I’m a “D” student

Here is something most people do not realize. That in dating – as in every other relationship [classmates, room-mates, colleagues] – they are grading us. The appraiser maybe a womanizer, a narccisst, an anti-social, a slob, or the occasional vampire [or the female equivalent of those]. But in meeting us, and spending time with us, and staying or leaving us; he is taking the responsibility of a teacher, an observer, an evaluator. He takes a grade-sheet and puts our values on it.

I’m a D student.

I’m the kind of woman men never stay with. From the good, to the bad, to the ugly; from the rotten liar, to the eager-to-please-er, to the man who believed women should quit their jobs to make a living out of worshipping men – men with big guns and small penises [a man who wanted me to wear nothing but dresses and skirts; tried to limit what I eat – or closely monitor it; and accused me of not making enough efforts to show that I was ready to become a “wife” less than a month into the relationship]; they have all been dating me, grading me and dropping out like I was not fit for human consumption. Men who told me they were lucky to have me, that I was one of a kind, that it wasn’t only my body they liked, but my brain they loved; have quit on me, and quit with a vengeance! With cruel words, with mean attitudes and for women they vowed all along would not hold a candle for me.

I keep getting “D”, for Dumped.

It doesn’t start out that way though! When men meet me –the right kind of men [intelligent men, with looks, senses of humors and a love for books… a curvy body, a soft skin, a smile that begs for approval] –they can’t praise me enough. I am a rare-specimen, they declare, and they were the lucky bastards fortunate enough to unearthen me. My smart-ass is a source of pride in company, the language I use to describe myself is a stream of constant amusement; my empathy [care-bear heart; capacity to put up with shit/fight fair/and stick-by come hail or heavy wind] is just an added bonus. Sure I was a little insecure, a bit of a drama queen, a lot more opinionated than a girl has the right to be. But who is perfect, right?. [Or so they say, pinching my cheek, or holding my chin to make my eyes focus on their sincere ones. “You are crazy”, they admit, “but that’s why I love/like you”]

When my “true colors” start coming out, by way of my mouth, and they discover that I was a more or less 4 hour material [a person you can only spend a day with; as compared to a life time]; that there was a self-hatred buried deep in my bones that no amount of TLC can cure; that death was my only councilor, cigarettes my true friends, loneliness an addiction I hold onto despite my love/hate relationship to it … despite – them] they start to look like a puppy who has eaten shoe polish – mistaking it for something brown and delicious. The honesty, especially, gets to them. They feel not respected enough. Dumb. Impotent. That maybe openness, loyalty and an ability to hold her own in word play isn’t all they seek from a woman. Soon after, I notice them watching me, when they don’t think they are being watched. Wondering.. perhaps.. how I can be so right, yet so wrong. Then something would happen [a mother, a careless word, another woman]. Next comes the “Dear Joan” letter. An A+ student is rewarded with an ungrateful “D”. Not a complete “F”ailure [a person who would never graduate as a wife/a lover/a woman a man would like to come home to after all the beauty and temptation the outside world has presented him with]. But a float-er. A never-do-good-er. A need to take course again/need to try harder/need to learn from past mistakes-er. This is the one course where the teacher gets to do the leaving while the student is left – crying another tear on her pillow, nursing another wound in her chest, dealing with another rejection.. another question she can never honestly answer however hard she tried: How can I be what you want me to be without stopping being who I is?!

[Would that be worth it?
Would there be another who would not make such demands of me?
Am I gonne die alone?]

Yet..

life goes on.

[And all you need to remind you of that is a nicotine covered in rolling paper. Price may vary from $3.25-$10 a box].

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