#75 BUYING A HOUSE IN COLUMBUS, GEORGIA AND GETTING ENGAGED: SHOULD I HAVE NOTICED THESE RED FLAGS?
Hindsight vision is perfect, right, but even knowing what I know now, I’d have made the same choices again
To recap, my ex-husband saw me at Starbucks one day and orchestrated a meeting (AKA the fourth person I met at Starbucks). We went out. We hit it off. He lavished me with gifts which no one had ever done before as I did mostly university-level dating (and we were all broke). I had dated Captain Thor who did take me on wonderful trips and pay our living expenses (in his swanky apartment) but who also thought a great birthday gift was a treasure hunt to an ice cream cake (read here) and who also wasn’t that into me despite an almost-year of dating. (FYI: My therapist said disliking the effort he put into said treasure hunt was very shallow of me to feel special only by having expensive gifts reigned upon me but it was a novelty and felt like living my own rom-com fantasies. Although often rom-com film protagonists leave their boring-yet-successful long-term partners for some broke guitar-wielding hottie they met five minutes ago, so who was I to judge?)
I fell in love with Benoit’s warm Lebanese family and his interactions with them, how close everyone was, how they debated goodnaturedly, laughed, shared family memories, poured love on the children in their lives, and I was captivated by Ben’s intelligence, talents, and credentials.
Hindsight is, of course, a wonderful thing. I didn’t question if it was normal for someone to spend hundreds of dollars on you in Q1 of dating and if the intensity of our whirlwind romance was healthy. I was swept up in the feeling of it all and it felt amazing compared to the chasing and uncertainty of past relationships (see a list of highlights on this post of the forty-six men I’ve written about already). Here was someone into me and wasn’t afraid to show it.
My family and friends liked him!
And the more I got to know about him, the more I found myself falling for him. Plus, my Mum has always been one of the most warm and welcoming hostesses so she welcomed high school sweetheart (AKA HSS), Dorian (AKA the Stella Adler Academy Actor), Captain Thor, the Scandi Lit Prof, the CFO, the Air Force Guy, the Red Haired Sex God, and a few others I introduced her to with open arms, but for some of them she later said she hadn’t really liked how they treated me but she’d never revealed any disapproval during those relationships – she let me make my own choices/mistakes. She just didn’t gush if she wasn’t particularly keen. I was always too blinded by infatuation to notice the cues.
But when she met Benoit, everyone adored him. She told me so! That held social clout to me.
Benoit was so, so into me. He was loving, caring, thoughtful, intelligent, fun to be around, we laughed together, all the good things. I loved learning about our cultural differences and he was unlike anyone I’d met. How fortunate was I?
And I kid about these things now, knowing how it all ended, but really I did think I was lucky, especially given my crazy and often heart-wrenching dating history.
The dilemma: was I ready to give up the party-girl lifestyle?
I was torn about rushing in, though. About settling down. I was having fun wasn’t I? Drinking, partying, hooking up with men from my past. Was that the way to safeguard my heart? Was that what I wanted?
In my post-grad-school era where my career was shit and my life directionless, I had no clue what I wanted. The life I envisioned for myself seemed unreachable.
The hiccup, too, was the person I’d gone on a date with three weeks after meeting Benoit and three men from my past who cropped up again (Hot Jewish Doctor, the Air Force Guy, and the CFO – who only came for a visit from California after Captain Thor and I had broken up but this was before I even met Benoit).
I had to make a choice. Was I going to go for Benoit after all? Was there enough potential to give it a go?
Hot Jewish Doctor drama: was I showing off or showing cold feet?
One day in March 2013 after Benoit had bought a new house for us to live in (more on this in a second), I’d gone out to work and Benoit checked my email sent box and found that I’d emailed the Hot Jewish Doctor. This was about five months into dating.
I didn’t see this as a red flag at the time but I was mortified. The Hot Jewish Doctor had emailed me or texted me to say he was in town and asked if I wanted to spend the weekend with him at a hotel. The part of me that had found our sex life electric and also love/hated the cat-and-mouse game I’d had with him very much wanted to. Plus, it was over a year later and I was thrilled that he’d come back and thought of me. I had ended our past friends-with-benefits situation (which included my showing up to his door in a coat and lingerie and him wearing his scrubs – see section ‘the hookups resume’) to date Captain Thor – and we all know how that turned out (if you are new, thank you, and it didn’t turn out!).
I basically told Hot Jewish Doctor that I was seeing someone new. Things were going so well. It was getting quite serious and added some details about how impressive and amazing Benoit was. I said I’d told the new guy about past flings and my dating life (although I admitted that I should have left out the detail that Hot Jewish Doctor was in my “top 2”) but I also said that I very much so desperately wanted “a last firework show” with him and “in a perfect alternate universe that would have happened” but I was generally sorry I blew him off and hoped all was okay.
Of course, I was people-pleasing and bragging and whatever else. See, Hot Jewish Doctor, you blew me off and now I am totally fine and okay, happy even. Someone does see me as marriage material – unlike you and Captain Thor – and I will ride off into the sunset of my life. You missed out by not seeing my value the first go-round. (However you write the sticking out tongue blowing raspberries sound.)
Memo from Benoit: everyone wants to fuck you: men cannot be your friends!
Benoit did not interpret this email this way, naturally. We had a huge blowout about it. I think the upshot was that I shouldn’t keep in touch with anyone I’d fucked in my past even if I did consider them friends because to Benoit, men weren’t friends with women (or me). They wanted to fuck me and that was that. Let me totally ignore the fact that he had female friends but, clearly, it did not work both ways. (And ignore the fact that I didn’t agree with this sentiment.)
OMG how much did he love me? He was so incensed because he wanted me all to himself. No one had asked me not to be friends with the opposite gender before but I was serious about him so I complied.
Also, our housemate, Radley, heard this row. More on this in a couple of minutes.
Emails to Noah: I changed my mind!
Really I was happier than I’d ever been in a relationship and that all felt like major progress.
I told Noah or Starbucks Guy #2 (AKA a significant hot male friend in my life who never worked out because we lived thousands of miles apart) the following (in total over the years we exchanged over 60 emails, plus FB messages, and texts so I really did feel like he was a friend and confidant even if he was also crushworthy):
End-November 2012 (about a month into dating but after Benoit met my family)
Just as I thought I'd cool things off with the new guy, I decided that I liked him, so things are going surprisingly well. Also, it looks as if my ex [Captain Thor] got the blonde he was always looking for; he pretty much told me his ex-fiance was the girl of his dreams and everything he wanted and how he'd preferred blondes, etc, and I always wondered why he'd even dated me in the first place since I was never his type. He didn't like big boobs. Didn't like my body type. Liked my personality and enjoyed my company, but I "wasted" my potential. Okay, I sound like I'm ranting. Basically, the new guy is the antithesis of all that. He treats me like gold; it's rather refreshing.
I realise now with so much hindsight that someone treating you better than the last crappy thing is not the same thing as being compatible per se. What did I want in a relationship? I’m not sure I even knew. But as I said, everything about Benoit seemed refreshing, exciting, and new.
(Also, I kept that bit in about blondes as it pertained to Captain Thor because that will crop up later as well with Benoit. Do I have a knack for attracting people who are decidedly not into me in the end and who, in fact, want blonde wives instead?)
After Noah had wished me a happy belated Valentine’s day, told me more about the woman he’d been dating for five months (they broke up but not long after, he met the gorgeous woman that he would marry – they’re still happily married with two children) and I replied with this email after he asked how I’d gone from wanting to cool things off to ramp things up:
Mid-February 2013 (almost four months in)
At first I just felt it was too soon, since I had just gotten out of a relationship, but then I was faced with an added challenge – I found someone who I really clicked with. That's what changed really. We get along so well, and he treats me like gold. I have never been treated so well. I factor into his every decision, and he factors me into his life for the present and future, which is really nice.
Spoiler: Him factoring me into every decision would change throughout our marriage.
So there's no real rhyme or reason for my changing my mind, but I found what I was looking for all along. As ever, though, hearts are often resistant to things – especially if we safeguard them from negative experiences – sometimes we are safeguarding them from the positives too. Maybe that makes sense?
Sign me up for Philosophy 101.
I had come out of a very negative relationship with someone who never got over his ex fiance, who didn't want me for his future, and who – even more cruelly – just kinda kept me on a string whilst still telling me how I was nothing like his "dream girl" who was "everything [he] wanted" (his words), and here was a guy who knew exactly what he wanted – he wanted me! – and there was no messing around, which was refreshing.
And he treated me like I was precious. I suppose I appreciated that, of course, and thought, why not? And it turned out for the best.
I'm extremely happy, happier than I've ever been with someone. Maybe things are too whirlwind and too fast, but who's to judge these things? I'm happy; he's happy. Things are very good.
It was a whirlwind and I vividly recall my Grammy asking me (who was subject to her own whirlwind marriage to my Grandfather) if I was sure. I said I’d never been happier. It was true. I had never been happier but my yardstick was a little short.
Do age and status gaps matter?
Benoit was seven years older than me. When we met, I was 25 and he was 32. What I know from being in my 30s now is not only does your physical brain finish growing and you reach full adulthood, but your attitude to life also changes. Here’s a BBC article that I’ve only skimmed about the topic.
I was sort of like those kids where they put marshmallows in front of them and they are promised more marshmallows if they delay gratification. I would have been the kid who stuffed the marshmallow in my gob in five seconds. (Although, in my defence against my own words and jokes, my parents did say I was a well-behaved child. Maybe I’d have resisted marshmallows because, let’s face it, they are a little meh but chocolate not so much.)
But really, the point I was making is that it’s always unfair to make comparisons for young people. He was successful and stable because of hard work, because of a wealthy family, and because he was simply older. I wrote about it in this post on Captain Thor that differences in status and place in life does create unequal power dynamics.
I’d have described myself as loving, kind-hearted, affectionate, and maybe not admittedly emotionally needy. Moving from England to Florida when I was young left a hole in my heart and now being in Columbus, Georgia, away from my mother, equally left something missing. I’d always had a very loving supportive family and I attributed all of these moves to why I got attached to sentimental things. It was as if the things represented the people and the times I could no longer return to.
I also had a very close friendship with Brittany, which is why I moved to Columbus with her. She was always very sensible and practical and I think, at the time, she disapproved of and/or was concerned about the choices I was making, perhaps destructive choices, and I’d needed this grounding friendship in my life.
We’d been inseparably close in graduate school, like sisters, but I don’t think she liked this new iteration of me and we’d had on-and-off tense moments in our friendship so when Benoit came along, I was a little lost and a little floundering.
I was desperate to be loved for me. I was ‘book smart,’ probably with no common sense (not as bad as the kind of person who microwaves an egg in a metal pan sort of stupidity) but not fully life-equipped, not like other people who were technically grown-ups. I’m not sure about 25-year-olds the world over, but I think American young people grow up slower than English ones.
Benoit was looking for a grown up and I wasn’t fully there yet and he’d had seven whole years more life on me.
Ya girl was tired: was my subconscious telling me something?
Whilst my income wasn’t technically below the poverty line for a single person (and Brittany and I shared a rented townhouse), it probably wasn’t far off (despite teaching at a university and as a legal assistant). I also had no paid annual leave, no sick pay, no benefits at all, no access to healthcare. Welcome to America! The land of the free… (or great if you earn a certain income threshold and not so great otherwise).
Plus, my friends Brittany (grad school bestie), Anna (the beautiful Chinese one), and Annie (the one who grew up in Ivory Coast) all far out-earned me. In fact, Anna, in particular, was a VP of a company and probably out-earned me by at least five times. I didn’t know how to get there. (In fact, it’s taken me to almost forty to earn anything close and unsurprisingly, Anna’s current income is now eye-watering as she has also ‘levelled up’ over the years.)
I know. I know! How could this be? Aren’t all English/Literature majors (even with Master’s degrees) turning down so many six-figure offers all the time?
Combined with the fact it’s pretty exhausting to worry about money, I didn’t know when this rat wheel would end. I’d spent seven years in education where I was what English people call a total swot. I wasn’t quite Hermoine level (not clever enough) but I sure did anything and everything I could to earn As in my classes. And, yes, I recall every single one of the total 6 Bs I received in my undergraduate education (i.e. my only non-As). I think I took about forty classes in undergrad so it felt memorable.
No one: What was your GPA in uni?
Me: 3.85 undergrad GPA and 4.0 in grad school
Incidentally, no one has ever asked. I did not adhere to the C equals degree philosophy.
Am I ADHD and why does this matter? Hyper-focus or hyper-bog creature
As Hot Jewish Doctor had probably rightly diagnosed me with ADHD, this was no easy feat. The more I learn about ADHD – even though I’m not officially diagnosed as I’m not sure what this would accomplish – the more I seem to fit the bill (sorry if this offends ‘real’ diagnosed people – not trying to). I lived with such high levels of stress that I once had a professor tell me that I really needed to see someone about it.
Back then, I was a major procrastinator – getting everything done just in time or with a generous 24-hour extension that I was not above emailing a professor to ask for – but over the years, I’ve learned to be on the other end of the scale where I’m hyper-productive but then also when my battery is completely drained, I’m like a bog creature.
I now pride myself on being efficient and effective at work but in undergrad and grad school, it was a struggle getting all my reading done, writing all the papers, and especially finishing my Master’s thesis – and fitting in social life, partying, friendships, family, and dating.
Teaching is tiring
Plus, anyone who has ever taught knows that teaching is just so exhausting. It’s not the classroom time or the lesson planning particularly but all the grading (or marking as people call it in the UK). The mountains of grading. And I would have loved not to assign so many papers, but they were university requirements. I did love seeing my students become better writers but all the grading made me despondent.
With teaching, the workload seems never-ending and you always get this sense that you could and should be doing more and any time you actually spend living your life wracks you with guilt. Was this just me? That’s how teaching made me feel anyway and only a few of my friends are still in teaching now, with everyone having left for better-paying, more sanity-inducing careers. (But shoutout to Dr Kristy who is now a fancy Dean of Students and all that and she’s always been so, so brilliant at teaching and, most importantly, loved it.)
Benoit rescued me from the rat wheel
Why am I saying all this? I’m sure in my subconscious Benoit came in on a figurative white horse. A rescuer. A knight in shining armour, if you will. He paid off my $600ish of credit card debt – not from shopping but existing.
I wasn’t always smart with money. People who don’t have a lot of it can’t be all that smart. Even if you manage to put money away, inevitably something comes up. Like your carburettor breaks or in my case when I was with Captain Thor my money was wiped out by a broken radiator as white smoke billowed from my car and I had to pay the bill for hundreds of dollars I couldn't afford and wait fifty million hours at the local Barnes and Noble for it to be fixed one day on a day I really had to grade. Unlike in the Captain Thor situation where I felt utterly alone as when I called him, he wasn’t willing to help (re emotional support or financial – not that I asked for the latter) in any way, with Benoit, it felt like I was gaining a partner in life, someone who was willing to rescue me and wipe the slate of all my troubles clean.
Personal training budget: a must-have
Of my limited funds, I felt it was ‘essential’ to pay $160/month for eight, one-hour personal training sessions with my amazing trainer, Tiffany. To be fair, it was good to work out life’s frustrations and disappointments with band-assisted pullups, box jumps, and 145lbs back squats. It was my very own mental health help. I find that personal trainers, hair stylists, and nail techs can be unwitting therapists to people. Some of them may relish the role and others not so much. (Sorry if you’re in the ‘not so much’ camp.)
(Shoutout to my trainer Nicola, nail lady Carly, eyebrow lady Steph, and hairdressers Jay and Millie. Sorry if I’m totally TMI.)
Sometimes, though, my trainer would exchange free sessions for free dog sitting and then I’d have three golden retrievers sleeping on top of me in a pile in the king-sized bed of her guest room, which could be lovely, with the only downside being they felt breakfast ought to be at 5 am and I was not a morning person (then – now I am).
My crappy Mustang got an upgrade
As someone who knew about cars (seemingly about everything), Benoit also helped me trade my crappy red Mustang for something better, yet something I could still afford to pay off (maybe, if I was with Benoit). I got a Chrysler Sebring convertible because once my Mum’s amazing cousin, Andrew (PhD, of course), who is the world expert in crop spray drift or something (lives between New Zealand, Australia, California, and Missouri) used to fly into Florida and take us on trips out and once he had rented this convertible Sebring and that memory stuck in my head. And now, look at me with my dream life (LOLs), I had a convertible.
“Oh to be mistress of Pemberley”
But, in hindsight, was I a total Lizzie Bennet? Was I totally “Oh to be mistress of Pemberley-ing”? Who knows? Maybe?
I was stuck in a teaching job where some semesters my classes were getting cancelled for ‘not making numbers’ and one day the lawyer I worked for said that he didn’t need me anymore. He gave me a generous-for-America severance (about a week of pay) and I went on my merry way. (At-will, part-time workers have no legal rights to work in Georgia and can be let go without severance or notice.)
I had no idea what I’d make from month to month, no matter year to year, and even though I continued to apply for so many jobs, nothing was biting. It was a tough economy and even the lawyer I worked for suggested I go to law school, which I very much did not want. (The lawyer had his own private plane and did very well for himself but we rarely interacted as he preferred to dictate messages into an old tape recorder and then I’d have to take notes and listen and make sense of the pile of papers to work through and complete tasks – which sometimes inexplicably included ‘cleaning the fridge’ which he said I’d done too quickly – and other times included scanning hundreds of old files into the computer, paper by paper. Enthralling stuff.)
It’s the little things
Plus, Benoit showed up in little ways, too. Yes, the lavish gifts were amazing and surprising but when we went on our Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year’s road trip from Georgia to Florida to Washington DC to Kentucky, he packed a blanket and pillow in his car so I could sleep if I wanted – which I pretty much slept the whole time – and he listened to his audiobooks which if I remember correctly was something like Clive Cussler, Brad Thor, or Joel Rosenberg.
He was good at the small and big gestures, of giving me a sense that life was now going to be okay with this very grown-up adult man by my side and that felt refreshing and freeing and hopeful all at the same time.
Buying a house: the joy of house hunting
It seemed like Benoit would just give us this very blissful life. One day, he decided that he was going to buy a house for us, an investment property. Renting, after all, despite the fact that the US government paid for it, was a waste of funds.
We did the whole ‘excited couple looking for houses’ thing and went around so many properties in Columbus and settled on a four-bedroom, three-bath house with a massive fenced-in garden and two-car garage. Your standard American McMansion of sorts with thousands of square feet in shades of beige. (My current office is roughly the size of ‘my’ old walk-in closet in that house for scale.)
The problem was that we both lived with people. I lived in a townhouse with Brittany and she did not want to find a new housemate so, therefore, I had to keep paying rent (in hindsight I get it but at the time I was resentful) and Benoit lived with Joon. I had my two cats living with me, too, and Brittany kindly agreed to continue looking after them (so I suppose the rent was the least I could do) and Jack Jack still lives with her over a decade on (so I’m ever so grateful despite being a shitty friend back then).
I had thought we coexisted quite well with Joon in their fancy apartment complex complete with pool and gym (very much of a muchness with Hot Jewish Doctor’s apartment complex or Captain Thor’s apartment complex). Joon’s wife had just moved in from South Korea and I recall an amazing night of Joon and his wife cooking Korean BBQ for us all and the four of us drinking lots of sake (or the Korean equivalent).
I’m not sure Benoit really discussed this choice with Joon, though. I thought the apartment was fine and lovely as it was and I got the sense he left Joon a little high and dry and hurt their friendship. Plus, all the apartment furniture and kitchen stuff belonged to Benoit so that was also super shitty. ‘Hey, I’m moving out and taking everything with me. Good luck.’
Benoit conveniently also bought this house before we were married. But I remember grinning like an idiot when he went to sign the papers and took me along, too. The real estate agent – who obviously made good commission – kindly bought ‘us’ a new back door (as a housewarming gift) since the people who’d lived in the house before had installed a dog door and Benoit didn’t find that acceptable.
Now, I had this big, beautiful house to rattle around in and a convertible to park in the garage (although most Americans use the driveway for some odd reason and store shit in the garage but we didn’t have an accumulation of too much stuff just yet). There was even a clicker for the garage door (thankfully not like that one Scream film with Rose McGowan).
My favourite room was the formal dining room which had high white panelling, a coffered ceiling, and walls painted red. I popped my desk in front of the window of the study – rarely to be used – in an effort to imagine I’d be a novelist someday, writing whilst looking out of the window onto the greenery beyond. The garden was maintained by a gardener, naturally.
Guess what? Benoit is moving to Germany
Oh, and I forgot to mention that when I’d met Benoit, he told me in less than a year he was getting stationed in Germany. If things got serious, I could come along for the adventure. And after the life I’d been living, the uncertainty, the quarter-life-existential-crisis, the ‘what do I do with my life and will it ever mean anything’ quest, that seemed like “an awfully big adventure” (to misquote Peter Pan because the real line was about dying).
Maybe with this lovely, powerful, impressive man by my side, I’d get to rest a little. Maybe I could stop working three jobs and just work, you know, one job. I wouldn’t have to worry about living expenses either. Everything would just be so much easier. Now am I Lily Bart from House of Mirth without the chloral hydrate?
Playing house like A Doll’s House
At first, it felt like playing house. The laundry room (or what Brits would call a utility room, perhaps) was ingeniously situated upstairs near the bedrooms. You know, the place you take off your clothes and the place you put them away in so it all made sense. I’d never seen an upstairs laundry room before so this seemed like a super-cool development. And Benoit and I would merrily do laundry together and fold and put away clothes. I have never excelled at folding, though.
We’d tidy together. We’d cook together. Everything was so, so together.
I was being all Snow White about it all. He’d seen my pigsty non-housekeeping ways but I had to change! I had to grow up and be a proper future Stepford Wife, even though it was not part of my personality and I found the drudgery of everyday household chores quite draining.
He loved my cooking, which I appreciated. I didn’t cook every night because that would have been very ‘off brand’ for me but I made enough meals and cakes that he appreciated it. I found out he loved my bread and butter pudding, too, and my family recipe version of melt-in-the-middle chocolate cake.
The man in the attic (kidding: our housemate Radley)
In our new perfect American dream life, we had a housemate living with us, Radley. Probably for extra income. Benoit was always enterprising! It was one of Benoit’s Army buddies whose wife was also an officer and stationed somewhere different from him. I think either she had just had a baby or was newly expectant. He mostly stayed in his bedroom and we rarely saw him. Sometimes he’d join us for dinner but he mostly kept to himself and I just remember him being a sweet guy. But obviously, I’d been a little embarrassed that time or two he witnessed our whole fighting scenario that generally centred on my (perceived by Benoit) bad behaviour.
I also contemplated, but not too seriously, wondering why Benoit hadn’t invited Joon to live with us, too. After all, we had plenty of space. I have no clue. I really liked Joon and his wife. Shrug.
Also, I should maybe have taken it as a bad sign that my cats – even though I desperately wanted them there – were not allowed to live with us either because they would wreck the carpets and furniture and I just sort of accepted it.
Hosting parties, loving life
Back to the good bits: I was a good hostess too. I loved to host a dinner party. We had people over for BBQs where he’d grill massive steaks. I’d make the sides. It was all one big jolly time. My friends and his friends. Our lovely house. We hosted parties for events like the Fourth of July, too. We were that American couple (both with origins outside of America). The grill, some alcohol, lots of people. Shiny, happy fun.
We’d visit his sister and brother-in-law and their wonderful children in Kentucky in their very posh house and they’d host big parties or their neighbours would and everyone was amazing, beautiful, successful.
I was caught up in this whirlwind new life. I was living…dare I say it? The American Dream!
I loved the kind of gatherings where you all end up outside, under an inky sky, littered with stars (I’ve never seen the stars as bright as I used to see in Georgia among the pine trees), chatting and laughing throughout the night. I recall when I was young, my family doing this and I loved listening to my Mum, her brothers, my grandparents, reminiscing about past times. Benoit’s family did this too, gathered to chat, to tell stories, and I was sucked into it all.
We’re engaged!
We met in late October 2011 and at the end of April 2012, we were engaged! Six months in! I’d met most of his family; he’d met most of mine. I was absolutely infatuated. My 1.4 carats of diamonds didn’t hurt either. Now I could keep up with all of my other ‘friends’ or ‘frenemies’ who had gotten married recently or well before me.
None of that “I’m not relying on a man,” “be your own rich husband,” philosophy for me! I was chosen! Off the market! Not about to be a Charlotte Lucas. I was scraping by in time not to be a spinster at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
I think I’d said if I got engaged, I didn’t want a big spectacle (read: I would have wanted a big spectacle with all my family and friends invited) and thus he proposed by writing, “Will you marry me?” in glow in the dark paint on the mirror of our bedroom, getting down on one knee with the gorgeous ring, and proposing to me with a tear in his eye. When I said some variation of “yes,” he presented me with some Moet champagne and tulips (my favourite flowers at the time). We toasted. I sentimentally kept the cork. I got a million congrats messages on the old FB when I posted about it.
He hated Facebook. He was very private. He was fine with this post, though, and the whole Facebook officialdom.
Side story about Ben’s exes
I didn’t hear too much about his exes but one he’d almost gotten engaged to was a nurse practitioner and very successful and also a super-amazing housekeeper, cook, baker, dog-mother, etc. Although I wasn’t entirely sure why they’d broken up, I got some vague sense of her ‘taking things for granted’ and her ‘expecting things’ and he hated that I was also told that she was very introverted and didn’t emerge much around his family, which was big and boisterous. Subtext I didn’t pick up on: she failed Benoit’s exacting standards.
I was a huge hit with his family, especially his nephews, and that seemed to give me a leg up despite his ex really being what he was looking for (in hindsight). And even at the time although I loved my new handbag (read here for that story), I always wondered why he never bought his ex a Coach handbag if that’s what she’d wanted. Why did he buy that for me when I didn’t really care? Did he hope she’d somehow find out and be upset? He never did buy me the Tiffany jewellery he bought for her, either, but I’ve never been much of a fine jewellery person either (unlike my older sister, Jae, who loves precious jewels and necklaces). But it was all a bit odd.
Despite his calling me out for taking time to cut ties with people who came before, he’d been in the middle of dating another girl when he met me: a pretty Hispanic woman who he told me he liked how she would slick back her hair and do a high-ponytail (funny the details you recall, right?). I’m not sure what happened to her exactly but he dropped her like a hot potato and I always felt a little badly for her, having been on the receiving end of such behaviour from men before. I felt badly if she’d really liked him, but equally, I had the smug pride of being so irresistible and so amazing that he’d drop someone else for me. Sigh.
Would I choose the same path? Probably!
The funny thing is, as painful as the ending was (and it was brutal), I don’t regret the choices I made because the friends, the travel, the experiences, even him have all enriched my life in some way. It’s made me who I am now and led me to the right match.
Coming up next, that time we got secretly married.
New here or haven’t followed from the beginning, why don’t you catch up on the other seventy-four posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing these chapters in the first place – with the odd “present day snippet” of what is happening in my world lately. (Spoiler: things are much, much better.)
Have you ever been swept up in a romance that seemed all-consuming and intoxicating (and maybe a little too good to be true)?
P.S. So, if you made it this far…Do you like these super-long-never-ending posts or would you prefer I try and condense my ideas into a 2-6 minute read? Feedback very much welcome.
#76 THAT TIME I GOT SECRETLY MARRIED: OUR COURTHOUSE ELOPEMENT IN GEORGIA
Despite texting that one guy I went on a date with once that I was dating someone from my past (AKA a “white lie”), I’m a terrible liar. I’m honest to a fault and that has gotten me in a lot of trouble. My ex (like the Married Professor I slept with those few times) as I’d learn was an old hand at mistruths/dishonesty by omission* or maybe more accurately “manipulation,” having been trained at interrogation and with special forces and whatever else. I didn’t think this was a good quality but I was smitten.
Omg I’ve never seen that comic about studying English lit before. So good. And great piece. Agree with others here that the authenticity and vulnerability makes them all such good reads.
"Maybe with this lovely, powerful, impressive man by my side, I’d get to rest a little. Maybe I could stop working three jobs and just work, you know, one job. I wouldn’t have to worry about living expenses either. Everything would just be so much easier." This is the key. I suppose many women think this is how it's supposed to feel. I thought that too until I realised all those things that would make me happy (a nice job, treats, a roof over my head...) have nothing to do with a man. And that, if those depended on a man, then I depended on a man too and that would not make me happy at all.