So back to the italian (Part I here), the man of my dreams…or so I thought. After our London trip, I was concerned…concerned about his OCD, his mood swings, the sex…just concerned. We continued to talk everyday, but something changed. The butterflies in the stomach were officially dead and gone. I felt like I was going through the motions yet, I hoped that my trip to visit him would reignite the spark…in and out the bed.
My flight left the evening of Valentines Day, 13 hours non stop. The couple that sat next to me on the plane asked about my trip and became so excited at the thought of this romantic love story, visiting my italian beau 9,000 miles away that I met on a plane just months prior. The thought of it all sounded so fairytale-like…..if only real life worked out like the Disney movies we all know and love.
I landed, and as I exited baggage claim, there he was. We hugged quickly because in the middle east it is illegal to show overly expressive displays of affection in public places, especially when you’re not married. He took my bags from my hand, and he immediately removed the airline baggage tags. I laughed it off, while silently screaming “O.C.D” in my head. We held hands in silence on the way to his place, it was 10pm by the time we arrived. I woke up to his doorman helping to get my bags out the car. He lived in a beautiful high rise building overlooking the water with every amenity you can possibly imagine. He got me a glass of wine and we laid on the couch dosing in and out of sleep. I quickly realized drinking wine with the Italian was not just “drinking wine”. Not only did it need to be the best wine, we had to sit and analyze it before we were able to drink. You know the whole swirl, sniff, examine thing you see wine connoisseurs do? Yea, that was him, and apparently I needed to follow suit. Now don’t get me wrong, I’d like to think of myself as classy lady with a refined palette but sometimes, actually all the time, I just want a glass of wine without all the hoopla. Nothing was that simple with the Italian.
We did not have sex that night and a part of me, actually all of me, was relieved. The next morning I woke up to him over me kissing my forehead, “Breakfast is ready and on the table for you sleepy head”. So sweet, right?
I walked out to the dining area and there was the most beautiful table set up I’d seen, it could rival 5-star restaurants. Silverware in perfect placements, fresh flowers, cloth napkins, fresh squeezed orange juice, pastry baskets, an assortment of teas, the works…it was 6AM on a monday and as was confirmed by the two seats…it was just going to be us. My mind immediately went to the OCD, but how could I complain about this gorgeous man who just arranged breakfast for me. So I sat down as he began to place food on my plate. Luckily I wasn’t hungry because apparently, the man doesn’t eat much. A morsel of bread, half a spoonful of scrambled eggs, a third cup of orange juice, some fruit, and thats about it.
During breakfast he ran down his plans for the day and let me know what time he’d be home from work. Gave me a set of keys and some cash as he kissed me goodbye. Goodness, he looked so good in a suit. I settled in, showered, and began to plan out my day.
Just a week prior to coming to visit him I was put in contact with a recruiter in the Middle East for open positions in my industry, next thing you knew I had job interviews lined up in a part of the world I hadn’t even considered living in months prior. I was definitely open to taking them not only because I was unhappy with my current work situation at the time, but I also considered that eventually if this relationship continued one of us would have to move, so why not see what’s out there. I spent much of the first couple of days meeting with recruiters and getting the lay of the land. At night, he and I would go out to eat or head to the grocery store for dinner. I noticed he would only buy enough food for that evenings meal, again, my mind went back to the OCD.
On my second night there he asked if we could talk…I think we both could feel something was off. I was in a beautiful city with a beautiful man but everything just felt…meh. He started the convo and acknowledged that he knew things had been different and apologized for not being completely “there”. He blamed it on some personal and work things he was going through and promised to make more of an effort to get back to how things were in the beginning. I agreed, and appreciated him for acknowledging it but somehow I knew this was going to be so simple.
That night, we had sex….you know the faces you see on TV that a woman in labor makes…a mixture between serial killer I’m going to kill you face and I’m reallllllly constipated face…that’s what he looked like when he “climaxed”. Throw in lots of grunting and you get the idea. Yea, not very sexy, but that wasn’t the real issue. The real issue was that it just simply wasn’t that good, not horrible, but surely not something I’d willingly sign up for every night for the rest of my life.
The next few days were filled with me going on meetings, playing “house” with my “boyfriend” and exploring the city. A couple nights later he asked to talk again….I honestly felt like a married couple, all this talking was exhausting. It was clear that he was becoming depressed over somethings he was going through and his “woah is me” attitude was honestly pissing me off. I didnt fly for 13 hours to listen to you complain about your negative 5th world problems all day. So when he asked to talk, I was already irritated. I let him speak, he expressed that he was depressed and felt bad for putting this on me when I came to have a good time with him. I agreed and he continued to talk about feeling bad and not knowing what to do, at which point I calmly said “Maybe we should just be friends right now, you’re clearly unhappy about whatever and unsure about what it is you want and this isn’t working how it is. I’m beginning to check out of this relationship”. After a lot of back and forth, he finally agreed. There we were at a beautiful 5-star restaurant with 4 more days left in our “lovers trip” and my Italian beau and I were no more.
To be continued….
P.S. I have a date tonight, he picked the only restaurant in my neighborhood that I absolutely HATE. Wish me luck.