Here's a place to talk about the relationships in your life whenever you want.
Throughout our friendship, we’ve both had ups and downs when it comes to the terrifying world of love. From her first “very licky” kiss with a short boy at a disco, to my first big break-up, we have lived each other’s love lives. In a non-creepy way. You know what I mean.
Followinga particularly heavy break-up, Lizzie was single for a good few years, during which I met my current beau, who she loves. We hang out together, and it’s amazing to see my two favourite people in the world get on so well. The whole time she was single, I thought “Lizzie’s fine, she’s just getting her headspace and getting to know her single self and when she meets Some Amazing Dude she’ll be mega happy.”
And she did. Meet someone, that is. He’s not amazing, though. He’s a Grade A mega-douchebag fuckhead and I hate him I hate him I HATE him.
While I thought Lizzie was biding her time, not stressing about finding love, was she actually festering in some kind of awful paddling pool of loneliness, where she dropped her standards so low that it became suddenly OK to date someone with the IQ of a toilet roll tube? Compared to her self-professed high standards of the past decade, her new man is frankly the pits.
If you’re thinking “Hey, Anonymous, he can’t be that bad? You’re clearly jealous of Lizzie’s happiness” then you’re wrong. You’re wrong because a) I don’t do jealousy and I am quite happy myself thanks, b) he IS that bad and c) I don’t think she’s that happy.
I don’t think she’s happy, because I think she knows what a dud she’s landed, but after a period of being alone, surrounded by coupled-up friends, she’s loathe to go back to being the single friend. I don’t think she’s happy, because she seems utterly mortified by him when he makes a crass comment, and because she is trying to change him a mere two months into their relationship.I don’t think she’s happy because this oaf with ugly jeans, horrible lad tendencies, sexist beliefs and a monumental lack of self-awareness is one of the people we used to laugh at.
When did she stop laughing at douchebags and start dating them?
Why can’t I tell her? Why can’t I square up and say “I think he’s the worst person I have ever met and quite frankly the other day when he said [horrible thing] about [minority group] I wanted to [grievous injury] him with a [heavy Medieval weapon]” when I have always been honest with her in the past? Like when she pulled mingers in 6th form, or when I visited her at uni to see that she was MAD COINCIDENTALLY casually seeing the boyfriend of one of my new uni mates, or when her hair looks bad? We’ve always given each other the truth, 100%.
But I can’t tell Lizzie that I hate her stupid, racist boyfriend because she LOVES him. She says she does. She thinks she does. Or she just, you know, does. You can’t tell someone that the person they’re in LOVE with is a giant wanker with a big fat stupid face and a retrogressive attitude to disabled rights.
Look, maybe you think I’m blowing things out of proportion, and I can see why. I do like ALL CAPS. The thing is, I’m not. The two people I’ve voiced these DEEP SECRET HATE feelings to have concurred. My boyfriend nodded sagely and sadly while I ranted for 45 minutes about how awful he is, before saying simply “he is the worst” while another friend described him as “exactly the sort of person who’d come fourth on The Apprentice, but without the comedy appeal” and can’t be in the same room as him. It’s not just me!
The thing is, I don’t care if the whole world knows he’s an arsehole. If Lizzie can’t (or won’t) see it, I’m scared she’s going to end up, a few months down the line, realising that she’s made a huge mistake.
They're taking things slow, despite being 'in love', but what if they decide to move in together? Should I keep this to myself, or tell her he’s terrible? I know the answer is to keep it to myself, to preserve our friendship. I’m just worried I’m doing so at the expense of her happiness when she realises just how dreadful he is.
And she’ll be furious at me, for not saying something. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t…