When my serial dumping spree began about three years ago, my first victim was this adorable dork by the name of Addam. (Yes, that's spelled correctly.) Look him up here. He was a serious dweeb. Ordinarily, I get hot and bothered big time for dweebs. But he was dweeby in the prudy sense: he was a teetotaler having never ingested a single drug of any kind, went to church every Sunday with his mom, drove a four-door sedan and owned a plain, empty, three-bedroom rambler in west Eugene. This dude was ripe for the picking by a nice, Christian, clean and sober butterface with good birthing hips.
My troubles with Addam didn't begin as early as they usually do. I suppose it was, oh...two or three weeks into the relationship when, one starry night in January, I got hammered and drove over to his house just itchin' to get some. I did, but it wasn't with out a certain mechanical failure on his part. He refused to talk about it. I offered to get him a referral to a urologist, but no dice. A sex therapist? No takers. He was a denial case. Who was madly in love with his mother. And speaking of his mother, exactly a month after we'd begun dating, on the same night he drove me to Salem to meet all the immediate family and about ten members of the extended family, all of whom expected me to remember their names, he told me that he loved me.
That weekend I went to work and bugged out. I went from totally digging the shit out of him (in spite of his sexual misfortune) to completely hating the guy. No explanation. So I decided to give it another test: the road trip.
We decided to go to Ashland for Valentine's Day. It was on this trip that Addam asked me what I really wanted in my life partner. My response had the usual lack of brevity, as I began to explain the relationship between my aunt and uncle. This is a couple who've been married for over 20 years, but she still wraps her legs around him when they're in the family swimming pool together. They have a relationship of beautifully [disgustingly] amplified affection. They're the kind of couple that everyone wants to be in, but no one wants to be in. Still, after so many years of marriage, children, jobs, houses...they shower together every day. Shower. TOGETHER. EVERY. DAY. Tell me that ain't love. This, I told Addam. This is what I want. The daily shower.
Addam indulged me on that fateful trip to Ashland. We were at the Winchester Inn, the most romantic place in Ashland, with a beautiful jacuzzi and luxurious shower with two shower heads, when Addam decided to join me. And as he set foot in the shower, I realized...
...what do I do in the shower that requires another person? Nothing! I brush my teeth. I wash my privates. I fart. And sometimes I pee. (Face it folks, you pee in the shower too. Give it up.) Why do I want another person to have to witness these things? These SSBs of mine? Why must I subject an innocent party, whom I assume I love, to the horrors of me in the bath?
At that moment I realized that what I thought I wanted was exactly what I didn't want. I asked Addam to get out of the shower. And two weeks later I dumped him.