Dating a married man memoirs
What’s worse is that most of the time these guys don’t even want to have their life together.
They’re content to be hanging out a bar on a Tuesday night, with zero ambition or desire to do anything to drink and get laid. Show me a cute wounded “tortured” artist and I will drop everything to save him. What I mean by this, is that a man child doesn't actually do anything at all, but is always saying they’re “planning” on doing something.
He satisfies your needs—at least one or two of them—until he’s forced to leave skid marks in your doorway to get home to “them.” In his eyes, you’re perfect. Why do all of her ex-lovers belong in the Losers Hall of Fame?
Not quite perfect enough to immediately leave his wife and sweep you off the market so no other can have you, but perfect enough to be his mistress for like ever—or until his wife figures out he’s cheating—whichever comes first. Perhaps he’ll leave after his wife after she finds out about your affair and throws his crap out onto the front lawn, you know, kind of like quitting your job after you got fired. A man who spent months, perhaps years, deceiving the women he loved. Still, it’s great that you found someone who gives you exactly what you want. There was Lamar, the hazel-eyed Adonis who sowed more wild oats than Quaker.
They could never be anywhere on time, they couldn’t clean the dishes correctly, every time we went anywhere that was even remotely upscale or swanky, I had to prep them on how to dress and what was appropriate conversation.
It was like sitting down a 10-year-old kid and telling them that when they go to their friend’s pool party, they can’t tell poop jokes and must abide by the basic rules of civility, like not pissing in the pool!
As I mentioned, the man children I’ve dated were “artists.” As a fellow artist, in my own right, I get that when you’re pursuing your art you feel that having a “real” job, as in a job that actually pays a proper wage, can you make feel like a sellout. But what I understand more is that you can’t do your art, or whatever your passion is, if you don’t have a cent to your name.
That’s why, I don’t care how cute, charming, or amazing the next guy I meet is in bed, if he’s a man child, I'm walking away.
In the simplest of definition, a man child is an immature guy who just refuses to grow up.
This doesn’t mean he necessarily lives at home with mom and dad ― although he probably should considering the way he functions in the real world ― but that he just doesn’t have his life together.
But I also know that you can’t do that every night of the week, because, well, unless you have a trust fund and zero responsibilities, life doesn’t permit such things. That was a concept that none of them could really grasp. I’m usually fairly laid back and not much pisses me off ― except social injustices, of course.
So while I always had fun with these man child guys, at some point you realize that doing pickle back shots at 4 a.m. But over the course of my relationships with these man children I was forced to nag, like really nag, because OMG dudes just wouldn’t listen or do what they were supposed to do! You’ll know him from the nice suit (that his wife bought him for Christmas), the tan lines from the wedding ring that now resides in his breast pocket, and the sob story about the overbearing, under-caring burden he voluntarily shackled himself to umpteen years ago.