My summer boyfriend had a commitment problem. All his actions pointed toward the classic textbook definition – fear of getting too close and fear of being abandoned by the one he adored – in this case, me. However, after much investigation and a huge blow to my ego, I learned that his commitment-phobic behavior had nothing to do with his overwhelmingly loving feelings toward me. In fact, his odd manners had to do with his unbreakable commitment to those whom he called, “his boys.”
You can imagine my dismay in finding out that his pensive stares out the car window as he pumped his fist to “Sexy Back,” were not in response to the tragic fact that we had only a few weeks left together, but rather his desperation to know what his guy friends were up to.
I should have heeded the first warning sign – rejecting an invitation to a night alone at my temporarily motherless apartment. I had a steamy evening planned and was anxiously awaiting his arrival. I made sure the lighting complimented my attractive and uneven tennis tan, my bed was made and my pillows were plumped.
As I was lying seductively on my couch hoping he would soon come, I received an unpleasant phone call. My boyfriend apologized profusely, but even though we had plans all week to spend the evening together, he unfortunately needed to cancel.
Dumbfounded by his lack of interest, I figured, even hoped, that he was cheating on me with a female and not with his guy friends.
Determined to find out what was pulling him away from me, I decided to pay him a visit at home the next night. I admit I was nervous as I pulled into the driveway of his very humble abode. Expecting that the decaying walkway would turn into a decadent palace filled with luring gifts, I began to sweat.
As I got closer to his house, I quickly learned what my boyfriend was continually ditching me for – a group of un-showered testosterone-driven boys sitting on a filthy patio. Each had a 40 ounce bottle of beer duct-taped to his hand, while simultaneously using the un-taped hand to scratch his crotch.
After leaving the house, I realized that my boyfriend’s excuses really were the sad truth.
Was this part of an age old phenomenon? Is it the heterosexual male’s preference to be with the guys rather than a girl?
Or maybe he just wasn’t that into me.
Permutt can be reached at spermutt@campustimes.org.
