Confessions of a Chauvinist

I am officially no longer sick - and it's a good thing, too. With only 8 days left until the Austin deadline, my body picked a really bad time to render itself unproductive. So, hurray - we're well again. And in celebration of my full recovery, I have a story.

An ex of mine and I used to enjoy reading together. It was something we did pretty regularly. I would be sitting up on the couch and she'd come and lay her head on my lap and we'd both sit quietly and read.

There was a problem, though.

I had this weird thing about it. Anytime she was in that position on my lap and we were reading together, in order for my right arm to be comfortable, I had to be cupping her boob. I know, I didn't get it either.

As with most quirks, they're only cute during the beginning of the relationship. Eventually it started to annoy her, and she'd try and move my arm. I'd move it back. She'd turn a little, I'd turn a little. It was physically impossible for me to sit with her like that if I wasn't cupping her boob. Next she tried sitting up next to me.

That didn't work either.

Now my hand had to be on the inside of her thigh. It wasn't only confined to when we read, either. We both realized that anytime we'd be sitting next to each other on a couch, my hand would be on her thigh. I'd never noticed these quirks of mine before.

So I thought back to every relationship I'd ever had - and sure enough, in just about every instance where the seating positions were similar - my hand would either be cupping the boob or on the thigh. It was really perplexing.

Then years later, as I'm breaking up with a completely different girl, it came to me.

I was just territorial.

The chick was insisting that we remain friends, and as usual, I wasn't having any of it. I gave her my patented "I'm a dog" speech. It goes something like this...

Chickie
We should stay friends.

Me
No. Sorry. That'll never work.

Chickie
Why the hell not?

Me
Because I'm like a dog--

Chickie
Well, I already knew that--

Me
Let me finish. I'm like a dog, see. Once I've pissed on a tree, I don't ever want to think about another dog pissing on my tree again. Even if I'm sick of that tree. Even if I never want to piss on that tree again in my life - just the thought of another dog pissing on my tree would drive me fucking crazy. I'm sorry, I just can't handle that.

Chickie
You didn't really just compare me and our relationship to a dog pissing on a tree.

Me
I'm afraid I did. Goodbye.

So as I'm walking away after giving this same speech for the who knows how-manyeth time, it all came to me. I was simply territorial. I enjoy cupping the boob and putting my hand on the thigh because, in my eyes, those are my boobs and my thighs. That's just how I'm wired.

If you don't like it, don't sit so close.