Tuesday, April 8, 2008

How Kiss & Tell Got Its Name

Next time you're feeling down, just remember, your date didn't run off to Cuba with the gal you bought Valentine's Day flowers for.

I was over it.
I was so over it, my first experience out of the gate, that I didn't bother writing about it on this blog, dedicated to the humiliations I've suffered so far in my recent post-divorce status.
But today I decided I should tell you why I chose the name Kiss & Tell. It's not because I plan on telling you about every man I kiss. It's because of the first man that I kissed after my husband moved out. Yet another musician. Let's call him Toots. Toots told me that he wanted it understood that he didn't "Kiss & Tell."
At the time he made it sound like he was such a deeply private person that he didn't feel it was anyone else's business what we were doing. It took me awhile, but now I understand he wanted me to keep quiet about our relationship because he didn't want it to ruin his chances with other women. Or maybe it was just one specific woman.
I know, I'm such an idiot.
I'm such a trusting, foolish, idiot.
Don't go thinking that I was in love with Toots, or thought that love was going to come about with him. I understood from the beginning that he didn't want a relationship. With anyone, he said. He said he was soured on the idea. Again, I believed him. And I accepted it, because I needed intimacy and human warmth and that connection, and someone to treat me like I was special and worthy of a back massage and a good cuddle. These were the things I was missing out on. Love would come later - or rather I hope that it will eventually come to me - with someone else. Someone who could appreciate the love and affection that I have to give. Never for a second did I think he was that person.
But, you know that saying. Until Mr. Right comes along, I'll settle for Mr. Right Now.
But a funny thing happened once he and I - for lack of a better term - started dating.
Toots quit being my friend.
After the first naughty weekend, I didn't hear from him for 4 days. Totally unlike him. Until then, we communicated almost every day. By phone, by text, in person.
After the 2nd naughty weekend, he didn't respond to a sweet, flirtatious text message I sent.
And when I saw him 4 days later and asked why he'd disappeared again and not even responded, he said, "Yeah, I knew I was gonna catch some shit for that."
Well then, friend, why did you do it?
I expressed to him my consternation that as soon as our friendship turned physical, he was suddenly having difficulty remembering that we were supposed to be friends. Our friendship, hanging out and communicating was important to me. And then, after that, I decided that I'd just let him contact me from now on.
I bumped into him on the street once or twice after that.
But he never called me again.
I'm going to break from my train of thought for a moment to tell you about a favor I did for a friend a few months ago. Bear with me, it fits in with my story.
A friend of mine is currently doing 18 months in Lompoc. I received a letter from him a few months ago, asking if I would do something special for him on Valentines Day. Being incarcerated, he was unable to buy his wife flowers. A dozen roses. I ordered them, dictated the sweet note about how he knew things were tough, but he was committed to working things out. I paid for them with my credit card, knowing that I would not be reimbursed. I did this with a sense of melancholy, knowing that I had nobody in my life who was going to buy me a dozen roses for Valentines Day. There's more to this story, but it doesn't relate to what I'm telling you today. But you'll figure it out when you read about it somewhere down the line.
I received another letter today from my friend in prison who told me what happened to Toots. He ran off with his wife. They are currently vacationing together somewhere south of the border.