Texas Boy may be one of the more interesting write-ups in my ex files. Trust fund baby and heir to his oil tycoon grandfather's corporation, Texas Boy quite literally does not have to work a day in his life if he chooses.
Name: Texas Boy
Age: 23
History: Met August 2007. Charmed my Sevens off with his superior intellect (he went to UCLA and NYU), flawless taste in music (Bright Eyes, Cursive, Stars...), dashing good looks, and eight-figure (at least) bank account.
The Catch: His father was murdered when Texas Boy was in grade school. Since then, Texas Boy has mostly written emotions off as signs of weakness. He deems them mostly unnecessary and is just looking for someone who will give him babies in order to please his grandfather. He's very particular, and one wrong word could cause the dreaded hang-up. Ask him about his father more than once, and you're sleeping with one eye open. Texas Boy is looking for sex, not love. Yours truly wants both.
But, who knows how many women have been in those Marc Jacobs slacks? This, girls, is what we call a womanizer womanizer womanizer, baby. Except, at first, I didn't know just who he was.
Due to his "perfect catch" status, I tried to turn a blind eye to his emotional issues. I mean, wouldn't you? At first, it seemed too good to be true. Texas Boy called not only every night, but sent cute emails and texts throughout the day. I do believe we were an item, and I was smitten. I imagined the lavish wedding we were to have (sorry, Air Force Boy, Texas Boy kicks your ass here), the baby couture I would clothe our children in, the grown-up couture I would clothe myself in...the best kinds of "what ifs".
To him, I was "darling"...except, not the "darling" your grandmother uses. No. "Dahhh-ling." He's one of those men who is great at starting relationships (but not so great at continuing them) - he once told me that the best piece of advice his late father gave him was to remind a woman how special she is every day, be it with flowers, phone calls, letters, or simple words. I was as corny as Kansas in August, high as a flag on the fourth July...I was in love with a wonderful guy.
Then, he dug into his "ex-files" and turned it all around.
We'll call her Mentally Unstable Ex. What Texas Boy EVER saw in this loony, I will never know.
And by "mentally unstable", I don't mean the kind of ex that inundated him with phone calls begging him to take her back, or anything like that. This cocaine addicted bitch chased him around his kitchen with a knife...and let's just say he went to the hospital that evening.
I heard horror story after horror story about Medusa, yet when he didn't call me for a week, I wasn't as surprised as I thought I would have been to find out about his week-long tryst with her. As we've learned from Air Force Boy, when any kind of emotional issue is at play, men think it's best to ignore it. And you.
But that wasn't all. No no no. As he nonchalantly informed me, it looked like Cruella's children would be wearing Juicy Couture onesies, and not mine.
That's right. The Wicked Witch of the Southwest was pregnant with little trust fund babies.
After that, it was strictly sexy business between TB (I don't think this abbreviation is pure coincidence...he's like a disease) and I. He refused to discuss the situation with me, although it became quite apparent that things were to change. I had been lucky enough to get a little emotion from him before...he even had gone so far as to drop the L-Bomb. Bold move, TB, bold move.
But now, unless I was calling to tell him what I was(n't) wearing, he would promptly press "end call". Just like that, we were done, except for the (amazing) physicalness of it all. Oh yes, he definitely still wanted that.
I didn't find out until months later that TB would in fact not be father to a little spawn of Satan, which left me wondering how much of his story was true to begin with. Did he fabricate Mentally Unstable Ex's return as an excuse to distance himself from me before he got too close? Or did he simply neglect to tell me about the abortion because he liked things the way they were - purely physical? Either way, I concluded that TB is what we in the profession like to call a "serial dater."
I still talk to TB on a semi-regular basis (once every week or two, sometimes more often), and I'm still hoping for the designer children's wear. However, he remains one of the most aloof assholes I've ever met, which leaves me wondering - although a kiss on the hand is quite continental (and free), are diamonds a girl's best friend? How much are women willing to sacrifice for the promise of a lifetime of financial security, and a courtship peppered with rare and expensive gifts?
My thoughts? Supermodels date Donald Trump for a reason. What do you think?
R
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