February 24, 2001

It all started when I was walking past a flower shop the other day and a saw a huge bouquet of sunflowers.  And it reminded me of Andrew, who I dated for a month during sophomore year of college.  Andrew, who greeted me at the campus bookstore where I worked with a huge bouquet of sunflowers every Friday and would take me out for Italian on Mondays and then a girl with a blond ponytail came to the bookstore to tell me that while he was with me every Friday and Monday, he was with her on Saturdays and Sundays, and another girl on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

Yeah, THAT asshole.  The only one who ever cheated on me (to my knowledge.  God, how awful would it be to figure out that other guys cheated on me).  I still remember how it felt like all my internal organs just plummeted down to my toes as I looked at this very nice girl with the blonde ponytail and the puffy-because-she-had-been-crying eyes who said "I'm so sorry to tell you, but I thought you would want to know."

And when I confronted him on it, all he said in his defense was "We never said we were exclusive."  So?  So!?  You don't have sex with more than one woman at a time over a period of time without letting them ALL know you're spreading your shit around like it's Christmas STD style.  Oh, whoa, you mean, you don't want them to know you're fucking three other women on the side?  Why, why ever not?  Could it be, because you know, gasp, you're fucking wrong to do it!?!?

It's just completely stupid because with just one glance of a sunflower, it's as if it's happened yesterday.  The anger is as sharp as ever.  My hands are shaking, my teeth are gritted and I feel the need THE NEED to make this person hurt.  To make him hurt, hurt in the way that he hurt me and the blonde ponytail girl and the Tuesdays Wednesdays chick (who really did get the worst days of the week to have him) and God knows how many other women he ran over in his lifetime.