Have you seen Cheaters? 1 of a couple thinks the other is cheating so has spies follow them to gather proof and then confronts them when they’re with their “other.” I think I was the “other.” I didn’t see cameras, but I swear they were there.
But first, let’s back up. A couple of years ago I fell hard…for Country. Yes, it’s a made-for-TV-
movie in the making: “big city girl loves country bumpkin,” but I fell for the romance of it all; the music, the tight jeans, the dancing and the cowboy hats, dear god, the cowboy hats…
So I go to a country dance club with dreams of Tim McGraw dancing in my head (Faith Hill gets fat and he leaves her for me – I still think about it sometimes). And when a cowboy hat sweeps me (and my 2 left feet) up to dance, my heart gets caught up in the whirlwind. He holds me tight and my hopeful heart skips a beat (along with my feet) and fantasies of us and our future ranch gallop in my head. As he says goodnight, it strikes me; I don’t know what he looks like under that hat. Too late, I have a date with him the next night.
What a difference a hat makes. His head glistens in the glow of my porch light, his tight lips are tense and pursed like a hawk and his colorful vertical-striped button down shirt is out of a dressy 80’s catalogue. What happened to Tim? Faith sucked the life out of him!
In my tiny outfit and heels he places me in his bright yellow 80’s sports car, all shiny and bright like his head, and with a roar of the motor and blast of cold air, we were off! – to RIVERSIDE. Shivering, I feel the blast of cold air on my bare legs. As I reach my hand to divert the flow, it is SLAPPED away by my Cowboy! “Don’t touch my car” he snaps; “Don’t slap my hand!” I counter. Silence. For 10 minutes. Oh god, I’m in a fast car with a near stranger driving out to RIVERSIDE, it’s the 909!!! Help!!
Tentatively Mr. Tight Lips attempts a half apology. 20 minutes later we arrive at the restaurant, which happens to have valet parking only, which he grumbles about and which he drives all around the surrounding streets – 4 blocks away – to find non-existent free parking. I remain silent. I’m not the type to care about valet or not, but when I’m in a nearly naked outfit paired with heels and an angry date, I’m not walking 4 blocks to eat. Yet, I did not say a word. After 10 minutes of futile searching, he gruffly concedes “You win.” “What do I win?” I wonder aloud. “We’ll park valet.” “Oh, that’s me winning?”
Once seated in the festive Mexican Restaurant, we get some drinks, some food, listen to the band, and his company is not unpleasant. Until…he spots something. A young girl is quietly roving around the dining floor with a basket of roses. I barely notice her across the room. Mr. Pleasant leans in and tenderly shares with me; “You absolutely deserve a rose...” Wow, I think, that’s sweet, I don’t need one. He continues; “But I hate that they parade it in front of your face, so I refuse to buy one.” Wow, I think, that’s sweet, I don’t need him.
Unfortunately, plans include the country dance club, that’s why we are in RIVERSIDE. We arrive and an odd looking blonde approaches Mr. Tightwad, and as I’m not the jealous type and as I’m definitely not jealous for him, I give them space.
The blonde storms up to me and demands, “Are you his date?” “Um, we’re friends…but I guess we came together,” I stumble. “I’m his GIRLFRIEND.” To which Mr. Slappy exclaims; “No you’re not!” “Then what were you doing at my house this afternoon? ARE YOU HIS DATE?” “Um…um…” “I’m his girlfriend and we’ve been together for 6 months. Are you one of the girls he’s been dating online? I know he’s been dating online!” This is too much for me, especially since they start physically pushing each other. “I’m gonna go to the car and let you guys sort out who’s dating who. When you’ve figured it out, I’ll be at the car.”
I leave the club in a daze, get to the car, turn around and see Blondie and Mr. Boyfriend racing towards me. They’ve been thrown out of the club and she still needs to know who I am. “We met last night, you can have him, he just needs to take me home.” But their fighting only escalades. Then the thought: “Am I on Cheaters? Am I on Hidden Camera?” Unfortunately I speak my thought. And the love birds do not find it funny. Fortunately their hate for each other trumps their hate for me and more fortunately for me – BOUNCERS! Hallelujah!! They come running towards the loving couple and BREAK IT UP! Kicking and screaming all the way, they throw her to her car and we get tossed in ours (sorry, HIS).
The long, quiet ride home. So I think. No. He can’t shut up about her and insists they broke up months ago and she’s been stalking him. I don’t debate. I’ve had my fill of country bumpkin and found out, I don’t like the taste.
The story does not end here, oh no, it continues for 2 YEARS. I tell him to take my number off his phone, never call again. He calls for a few weeks then seems to give up. Months later, Blondie calls! in a lawsuit with Mr. Bumpkin and she wants my statement. “How did you get my number?!” “It was on his phone.” “PLEASE erase my number. I can’t help you, I barely knew him - and you didn’t leave a great impression either.” Then HE calls a few months down the line, wanting a statement for his countersuit. “No!” A year goes by and he shows up at my work – he TRACKED ME DOWN!!! And wants a statement for a restraining order against Blondie, who, he claims, is crazy. “You’re no prize yourself – you probably made her crazy. You are stalking ME now. If I see you again, I’ll see you in court.”
The moral of this story is: Faith Hill is NOT fat, Tim won’t leave her for me or you, and don’t try to live a movie, just go to one…it won’t follow you home.
And to the producers of Cheaters: seriously, did you get any of this on tape?
But first, let’s back up. A couple of years ago I fell hard…for Country. Yes, it’s a made-for-TV-
movie in the making: “big city girl loves country bumpkin,” but I fell for the romance of it all; the music, the tight jeans, the dancing and the cowboy hats, dear god, the cowboy hats…So I go to a country dance club with dreams of Tim McGraw dancing in my head (Faith Hill gets fat and he leaves her for me – I still think about it sometimes). And when a cowboy hat sweeps me (and my 2 left feet) up to dance, my heart gets caught up in the whirlwind. He holds me tight and my hopeful heart skips a beat (along with my feet) and fantasies of us and our future ranch gallop in my head. As he says goodnight, it strikes me; I don’t know what he looks like under that hat. Too late, I have a date with him the next night.
What a difference a hat makes. His head glistens in the glow of my porch light, his tight lips are tense and pursed like a hawk and his colorful vertical-striped button down shirt is out of a dressy 80’s catalogue. What happened to Tim? Faith sucked the life out of him!
In my tiny outfit and heels he places me in his bright yellow 80’s sports car, all shiny and bright like his head, and with a roar of the motor and blast of cold air, we were off! – to RIVERSIDE. Shivering, I feel the blast of cold air on my bare legs. As I reach my hand to divert the flow, it is SLAPPED away by my Cowboy! “Don’t touch my car” he snaps; “Don’t slap my hand!” I counter. Silence. For 10 minutes. Oh god, I’m in a fast car with a near stranger driving out to RIVERSIDE, it’s the 909!!! Help!!
Tentatively Mr. Tight Lips attempts a half apology. 20 minutes later we arrive at the restaurant, which happens to have valet parking only, which he grumbles about and which he drives all around the surrounding streets – 4 blocks away – to find non-existent free parking. I remain silent. I’m not the type to care about valet or not, but when I’m in a nearly naked outfit paired with heels and an angry date, I’m not walking 4 blocks to eat. Yet, I did not say a word. After 10 minutes of futile searching, he gruffly concedes “You win.” “What do I win?” I wonder aloud. “We’ll park valet.” “Oh, that’s me winning?”
Once seated in the festive Mexican Restaurant, we get some drinks, some food, listen to the band, and his company is not unpleasant. Until…he spots something. A young girl is quietly roving around the dining floor with a basket of roses. I barely notice her across the room. Mr. Pleasant leans in and tenderly shares with me; “You absolutely deserve a rose...” Wow, I think, that’s sweet, I don’t need one. He continues; “But I hate that they parade it in front of your face, so I refuse to buy one.” Wow, I think, that’s sweet, I don’t need him.
Unfortunately, plans include the country dance club, that’s why we are in RIVERSIDE. We arrive and an odd looking blonde approaches Mr. Tightwad, and as I’m not the jealous type and as I’m definitely not jealous for him, I give them space.
The blonde storms up to me and demands, “Are you his date?” “Um, we’re friends…but I guess we came together,” I stumble. “I’m his GIRLFRIEND.” To which Mr. Slappy exclaims; “No you’re not!” “Then what were you doing at my house this afternoon? ARE YOU HIS DATE?” “Um…um…” “I’m his girlfriend and we’ve been together for 6 months. Are you one of the girls he’s been dating online? I know he’s been dating online!” This is too much for me, especially since they start physically pushing each other. “I’m gonna go to the car and let you guys sort out who’s dating who. When you’ve figured it out, I’ll be at the car.”
I leave the club in a daze, get to the car, turn around and see Blondie and Mr. Boyfriend racing towards me. They’ve been thrown out of the club and she still needs to know who I am. “We met last night, you can have him, he just needs to take me home.” But their fighting only escalades. Then the thought: “Am I on Cheaters? Am I on Hidden Camera?” Unfortunately I speak my thought. And the love birds do not find it funny. Fortunately their hate for each other trumps their hate for me and more fortunately for me – BOUNCERS! Hallelujah!! They come running towards the loving couple and BREAK IT UP! Kicking and screaming all the way, they throw her to her car and we get tossed in ours (sorry, HIS).
The long, quiet ride home. So I think. No. He can’t shut up about her and insists they broke up months ago and she’s been stalking him. I don’t debate. I’ve had my fill of country bumpkin and found out, I don’t like the taste.
The story does not end here, oh no, it continues for 2 YEARS. I tell him to take my number off his phone, never call again. He calls for a few weeks then seems to give up. Months later, Blondie calls! in a lawsuit with Mr. Bumpkin and she wants my statement. “How did you get my number?!” “It was on his phone.” “PLEASE erase my number. I can’t help you, I barely knew him - and you didn’t leave a great impression either.” Then HE calls a few months down the line, wanting a statement for his countersuit. “No!” A year goes by and he shows up at my work – he TRACKED ME DOWN!!! And wants a statement for a restraining order against Blondie, who, he claims, is crazy. “You’re no prize yourself – you probably made her crazy. You are stalking ME now. If I see you again, I’ll see you in court.”
The moral of this story is: Faith Hill is NOT fat, Tim won’t leave her for me or you, and don’t try to live a movie, just go to one…it won’t follow you home.
And to the producers of Cheaters: seriously, did you get any of this on tape?
1 comment:
Are you kidding me? For realsies that happened to you? Man, that's one-woman show fodder right there. Damn.
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