This is a bit long, but explaining human relationships always necessarily is. I hope that you kind people from WTF will take the time to help me out.
Most of you think you know me, but I’m a shy, quiet guy. I’d rather sit at home and knit than go out and drink or party. Knitting sounds like an odd hobby for a guy, and ha ha, I always tell people that I’m a “knit wit”. For you see, I like puns a lot too, and what I mean is that all I can think of is knitting—you could say that I’m a nitwit about knitting, and therefore a knitwit. I always have to explain that.
But there’s one thing that I’ve always loved more than knitting or jokes. That’s my girlfriend. Our relationship wasn’t like most relationships you see. I’d met her in one of those Russian dating sites. I didn’t know her at first, obviously, but from the moment she arrived I was in love. You could say that it was a great out-of-the-box experience because of all those jokes they have about mail-order brides, but actually she came on a plane. But it’s still funny. I make jokes like that all the time.
My girlfriend came to the United States right after my mother died. I had begun talking to her in my mom’s last days, and I regret that they never got to meet each other. They’re very similar people. But anyway… When my girlfriend first came here, we lost our virginity to each other. I had never been with a woman before because my late mother, God bless her soul, didn’t approve of it. But my girlfriend knew everything you need to know about sex. She had been in the film industry and she said she picked up a lot of technique from watching the actresses there. I said to her, “You know, you’re so pretty you could be an actress yourself”. When I broke it down and explained it to her, she looked kind of embarrassed. But you couldn’t blame her, because being from a post-Communist country and all, maybe she just wasn’t used to our American idioms. I’m talking about idioms with an m, not idiot with a t as many people like to joke in these forums.
Our relationship was great. Most girls like homely guys like myself, or at least, most Russian girls do. That’s what my girlfriend said. Her last boyfriend was in the Russian mafia and he was mean to her a lot. Not me though! I was happy as a cat with a saucer of milk (I have twelve cats, mostly in memory of my late mother). I would do my knitting and she would go exploring around the city. She was really bad at directions though, and frequently she would go out on Friday night and then lose her way and all her money. And then she’d call me on Monday morning asking me to pick her up. I was fine with that, because I don’t mind driving. I’d pick her up from outside of apartment buildings, since by that time she would have lost all her money and wouldn’t be able to call me from a public phone, and so she had to go to peoples’ houses asking them to let her use their phone. I used to say, we should invite those kindly people over sometime, have them for dinner or something. But she’s a shy girl too, and she’d look embarrassed. Silly me, wouldn’t I be embarrassed if someone were to remind me of my insufficiencies? Lucky that I don’t have any! (Well, I do have one tiny little problem, but that’s not the point of this thread and she used to say that it didn’t matter anyway, so I don’t see any reason to bring that up here. My girlfriend used to love me for who I am.)
When I say “used to”, I do mean that. For tonight, e-friends, my girlfriend told me that she didn’t love me anymore. She said many mean things, no doubt in the heat of the moment and forgivable in the long run, and I told her that. But she was adamant about it and she said that I was stifling her.
Frailty, thy name is woman! How soon we forget! Isn’t life funny that way? Only a couple of months ago she was fresh off the boat, and now, days after we celebrated her eighteenth birthday, she’s become Americanized enough to use the same expressions that American women use to subjugate their men! You may point out here that I’ve never actually known American women, and you’d be technically correct, but my mother told me all about them and their evil ways. Poor mom, I miss her a lot. But my girlfriend was louder than even my late mother in her listing of everything she hated about me.
There she was, and there I was. I choked back the tears and said goodbye: what else could I do? I knew of only one thing, and that’s all I asked. You see, while I had never been a star sexual performer, as my girlfriend used to say all the time (although I say: how would she know? I’m the only one she’d ever had!). I wasn’t very good in bed but I wasn’t interested in that sort of thing very much, and so far as I could tell, neither was she. But there’s one thing that I used to love doing, something that I used to do for my mother before she died and an act which is therefore very special to me emotionally. That I got sexual pleasure out of it has been commented on by my girlfriend, but I say: who among you haven’t suckled on your mother’s teat as an infant? And who among you men don’t like the salty taste of a woman’s nipple? And who among you can put your mouth on a woman’s breast without thinking back to the golden days of childhood?
But I did not ask her to nurse me. No, I wouldn’t be so crass as to ruin such a charged moment with such a lowbrow suggestion. What I aimed for was of the highest eroticism, that only the most skilled practitioners of love can perform with any skill. I also secretly wished that, once we were in the act itself, she would change her mind about leaving me. Or maybe she would leave me forever. It was her choice really. But I had my hopes.
I wanted to wash her hair for one last time. You see, I have this fetish about hair, and it’s really the only sexual thing that really turns me on. My girlfriend used to say that I washed her hair better than any girl ever did. Well, that’s right, I would say, and I’d point out that I also knit better than any girl she knew. She would agree with me and look embarrassed in that endearing way she had. But anyway, I begged, and she granted. So I took her into the bathroom, brought out all my gear—the shampoo, the comb, the razor, etc—and got to work. Afterwards, she was gone from my life and I would never see her soft, lovely face again.
My life is ruined, my dreams dashed. My girlfriend was everything I’d ever wanted (aside, of course, from knitting and my secret dream of someday starring in a film with Jim Carrey), and there it was, gone after less than an hour of passionate screaming. She said I was cold-hearted, and well, so is she. I was torn into pieces, but I guess I can say that she was too. I’ll miss her every day of my life, but I feel so lonely and strangely fearful these days that I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
My problem right now, however, is how to clean the bathroom. You see, when my girlfriend was here she would always clean the bathroom, and before her there was my mother. I can safely say that right now is the first time in my life really that I’ve even had to think of cleaning the bathroom. I know, I know, some of you people have lived alone for years, and for that I pity you. But I also envy your bathroom-cleaning skills (I’m not saying “household skills” because I’m good at most forms of housework; I’m just a little afraid of all the germs in the bathroom). So, dear WTFers, help me out here. I’ve been trying for an hour now, making every effort. But nothing works. How do I clean my bathroom sink?
Here’s a picture so that you guys can see what the problem is and make your suggestions accordingly:
Most of you think you know me, but I’m a shy, quiet guy. I’d rather sit at home and knit than go out and drink or party. Knitting sounds like an odd hobby for a guy, and ha ha, I always tell people that I’m a “knit wit”. For you see, I like puns a lot too, and what I mean is that all I can think of is knitting—you could say that I’m a nitwit about knitting, and therefore a knitwit. I always have to explain that.
But there’s one thing that I’ve always loved more than knitting or jokes. That’s my girlfriend. Our relationship wasn’t like most relationships you see. I’d met her in one of those Russian dating sites. I didn’t know her at first, obviously, but from the moment she arrived I was in love. You could say that it was a great out-of-the-box experience because of all those jokes they have about mail-order brides, but actually she came on a plane. But it’s still funny. I make jokes like that all the time.
My girlfriend came to the United States right after my mother died. I had begun talking to her in my mom’s last days, and I regret that they never got to meet each other. They’re very similar people. But anyway… When my girlfriend first came here, we lost our virginity to each other. I had never been with a woman before because my late mother, God bless her soul, didn’t approve of it. But my girlfriend knew everything you need to know about sex. She had been in the film industry and she said she picked up a lot of technique from watching the actresses there. I said to her, “You know, you’re so pretty you could be an actress yourself”. When I broke it down and explained it to her, she looked kind of embarrassed. But you couldn’t blame her, because being from a post-Communist country and all, maybe she just wasn’t used to our American idioms. I’m talking about idioms with an m, not idiot with a t as many people like to joke in these forums.
Our relationship was great. Most girls like homely guys like myself, or at least, most Russian girls do. That’s what my girlfriend said. Her last boyfriend was in the Russian mafia and he was mean to her a lot. Not me though! I was happy as a cat with a saucer of milk (I have twelve cats, mostly in memory of my late mother). I would do my knitting and she would go exploring around the city. She was really bad at directions though, and frequently she would go out on Friday night and then lose her way and all her money. And then she’d call me on Monday morning asking me to pick her up. I was fine with that, because I don’t mind driving. I’d pick her up from outside of apartment buildings, since by that time she would have lost all her money and wouldn’t be able to call me from a public phone, and so she had to go to peoples’ houses asking them to let her use their phone. I used to say, we should invite those kindly people over sometime, have them for dinner or something. But she’s a shy girl too, and she’d look embarrassed. Silly me, wouldn’t I be embarrassed if someone were to remind me of my insufficiencies? Lucky that I don’t have any! (Well, I do have one tiny little problem, but that’s not the point of this thread and she used to say that it didn’t matter anyway, so I don’t see any reason to bring that up here. My girlfriend used to love me for who I am.)
When I say “used to”, I do mean that. For tonight, e-friends, my girlfriend told me that she didn’t love me anymore. She said many mean things, no doubt in the heat of the moment and forgivable in the long run, and I told her that. But she was adamant about it and she said that I was stifling her.
Frailty, thy name is woman! How soon we forget! Isn’t life funny that way? Only a couple of months ago she was fresh off the boat, and now, days after we celebrated her eighteenth birthday, she’s become Americanized enough to use the same expressions that American women use to subjugate their men! You may point out here that I’ve never actually known American women, and you’d be technically correct, but my mother told me all about them and their evil ways. Poor mom, I miss her a lot. But my girlfriend was louder than even my late mother in her listing of everything she hated about me.
There she was, and there I was. I choked back the tears and said goodbye: what else could I do? I knew of only one thing, and that’s all I asked. You see, while I had never been a star sexual performer, as my girlfriend used to say all the time (although I say: how would she know? I’m the only one she’d ever had!). I wasn’t very good in bed but I wasn’t interested in that sort of thing very much, and so far as I could tell, neither was she. But there’s one thing that I used to love doing, something that I used to do for my mother before she died and an act which is therefore very special to me emotionally. That I got sexual pleasure out of it has been commented on by my girlfriend, but I say: who among you haven’t suckled on your mother’s teat as an infant? And who among you men don’t like the salty taste of a woman’s nipple? And who among you can put your mouth on a woman’s breast without thinking back to the golden days of childhood?
But I did not ask her to nurse me. No, I wouldn’t be so crass as to ruin such a charged moment with such a lowbrow suggestion. What I aimed for was of the highest eroticism, that only the most skilled practitioners of love can perform with any skill. I also secretly wished that, once we were in the act itself, she would change her mind about leaving me. Or maybe she would leave me forever. It was her choice really. But I had my hopes.
I wanted to wash her hair for one last time. You see, I have this fetish about hair, and it’s really the only sexual thing that really turns me on. My girlfriend used to say that I washed her hair better than any girl ever did. Well, that’s right, I would say, and I’d point out that I also knit better than any girl she knew. She would agree with me and look embarrassed in that endearing way she had. But anyway, I begged, and she granted. So I took her into the bathroom, brought out all my gear—the shampoo, the comb, the razor, etc—and got to work. Afterwards, she was gone from my life and I would never see her soft, lovely face again.
My life is ruined, my dreams dashed. My girlfriend was everything I’d ever wanted (aside, of course, from knitting and my secret dream of someday starring in a film with Jim Carrey), and there it was, gone after less than an hour of passionate screaming. She said I was cold-hearted, and well, so is she. I was torn into pieces, but I guess I can say that she was too. I’ll miss her every day of my life, but I feel so lonely and strangely fearful these days that I don’t know what’s going to happen next.
My problem right now, however, is how to clean the bathroom. You see, when my girlfriend was here she would always clean the bathroom, and before her there was my mother. I can safely say that right now is the first time in my life really that I’ve even had to think of cleaning the bathroom. I know, I know, some of you people have lived alone for years, and for that I pity you. But I also envy your bathroom-cleaning skills (I’m not saying “household skills” because I’m good at most forms of housework; I’m just a little afraid of all the germs in the bathroom). So, dear WTFers, help me out here. I’ve been trying for an hour now, making every effort. But nothing works. How do I clean my bathroom sink?
Here’s a picture so that you guys can see what the problem is and make your suggestions accordingly:
