Mmm. Sounds yummy, right?
This isn’t about that wonderful Italian classic, though. This is about my relationship with the boyfriend material. The one who got away, bf-material-wise.
I just finished watching episode 9 of 13 Reasons Why. If you’re reading this, and you’ve already watched it, then we’re already on the same page. I had one key takeaway from that episode: Justin Foley, in all his cleft chin, perfect smile, lovey-dovey but still a grade A asshole glory, does not have balls. And how many of us millenial titas can really say that we never had a relationship with a Justin? You know, the type who meets all your physical standards, the one who’s so accomplished, in a high school non-adult kind of way, but can never truly stand up for you? All talk, no action. Yeah he can threaten Clay all he wants, but come on, the dude lets his girlfriend drive him around, clings on to his jock posse for power and influence, but really, on his own, he’s just some pretty boy who can only as much as hurt a fly that lands on your lap. He’s fun, can drink, but will run off to hide the moment some bigger dude challenges him. Yeah, I think you know the type. And I guess we’ve all been there, some more than once.
My Spaghetti with Meatballs was different. He could be annoying, what with all his trash talk and stuff. But the guy stood up for me. He “flew” to paranaque where some thugs broke into my car to steal my bag, in the middle of a radio show, because he wanted to make sure I drove home safe and sound. He could own up to his mistakes, apologized when he hurt me, and was man enough to change whatever issue I had with him. He faced problems head on–refused to talk through texts when he knew my problems were serious. He took care of me when I got so fucked up during one beach trip–hell I puked all over him and couldn’t remember half of what inception-related shit I said–but I sobered up and realized that I was changed, I wasn’t abused (not like Jessica), and we were on our way back home to my parents. He could be a trash-talking basketball fanatic, but he sure could back it up with actions.
So yeah, I’m happy to realize that once in my life, I dated my spaghetti with meatballs. I’m glad that after all the Justin’s that keep coming my way, I had spaghetti with meatballs. And I let him get away, for reasons only I and SWM know.
So I guess thank you, SWM, from the bottom of my heart, for perpetually raising the standards.