Transplanted Life
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Last night, I finally told Maureen that she had that look again. When she asked "what look", I told her that it was the condescending, morally superior one which we hadn't seen much since I moved in here, but which she wore a lot when she first started working at BioSoft. She said she didn't know what I was talking about and maybe I just had a guilty conscience. Well, yeah, I do, but that's beside the point; it just must be awful nice to have the sort of clear conscience and spotless life where you can smugly look down on someone for a bad decision or two.

I mentioned this to Nat, and she told me that was nothing - try being single and eight and a half months pregnant with a fiancé who bailed on you and is wanted by the FBI for questioning. That is, I must admit, rather worse than having your roommate act snooty because you slept with one boyfriend while seeing another two months ago. Especially in Nataliya's circle - sure, some folks are cosmopolitan not to get all judgmental about being pregnant out of wedlock, but that she'd gotten involved with someone as apparently shady as this "Martin" fellow... Scandalous! Of course, if they had married and he was still in trouble, they'd expect her to stand behind him one hundred percent.

So, anyway, I tried to meet Doug to apologize again after work, figuring that the twenty times I've done it to his answering machine don't count. I decided to stop screwing around, and went to his apartment on the pretext of returning my key. He was home, at least, but we didn't have much time to talk - he had theater tickets of some sort, and was changing when I got there.

I apologized, saying I knew it was a bad decision as soon as I'd done it, which was why I hadn't said anything, figuring maybe it would just go away, but that never seems to happen.

So, he says, you think saying you're sorry's going to make everything all right? Well, no, but the last time I failed to be forthcoming, it didn't exactly go well. Oh, so you're playing "ignorant of how to be a girl" again, he says, and what can I say but no, I'm playing someone who doesn't seem to be better at sustaining a relationship in her second life than the first. I honestly don't expect any sort of rapproachment and just think, hey, you don't deserve to be treated like dirt. Well, thanks a lot, he says, takes the key back, and says he'll return my stuff I've got there later, since he's entertaining one of their corporate clients' reps and has to be out the door

So, that's that. I'm sure it's utterly unimportant that this corporate client had left her cute little purse in a chair pushed under the dining table that I just barely glimpsed as I walked out. I suppose the fact I was bothered by that sight makes me the biggest hypocrite of us all.

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