To the boy my boyfriend refers to as “dick on a shelf”,
I’m sorry we haven’t hung out lately. But I think we both know why. The trouble comes when we try to explain to people how we know each other. The word “ex” just doesn’t fit.
Referring to someone as your “ex” is like signing a fine print contract stating you failed at something. Sucked at it in fact, so much you decided to never do it again.
Besides, I don’t do one-night stands. I’m a quality over quantity kind of girl, so if I’ve bothered to kiss you good, that means I like you, you’ve got potential and I am trying you on in the dressing room before taking you home. That is to say, I’m a “to-be-continued, maybe, if” ginda girl.
So Instead of these inaccurate labels, I used to explain who you were in awkward strings of descriptive details – like I might call you “ Hammock boy” (WINK).
Or if I was drunk and feeling verbose I might say he was “the crazy chiseled boy with cute sticky-outie ears who I intertwined once on an outside lay back and swing device”.
When I’m not feeling creative, you’re just: “The reason the hammock is broken…guy”
(By the way, you still owe me $50 for all the things we broke in that apartment)
Pretty soon your description became longer and more obscene then our actual relationship, and all the nuances of knowing someone were overshadowed by the things we did while under the influence of drugs, loneliness, and youth.
A lot has changed, and we certainly had more in the past than we do now but an ellipsis has always sounded better than “period” after your name.
Sue me if I’m tired of defining things by what they are not, when I’m not sure that they ever were.
Lets be honest, the people we love now have no desire to sit and listen to us exchange inside jokes about post sex spaghetti, purple sparkly lipstick in awkward places, or the notion that lap dances are a perfectly legitimate way to break the ice.
While you may be the reason I know strong men need to be held, and that I can let go without breaking, I have to put you away. You can have the shelf, right next to remember, and far from trying to forget. Your classic, you’re just cut a bit oddly for my rib cage and I’m sure you’ll fit some other girl really nice one day. Period.





