Have I told you about Ron before? He’s a friend I’ve known since basically the first day I moved to this little country last year. He’s a nice guy but he can come off as abrasive sometimes. Also he’s 23.
Generally speaking, we don’t hang out all that much but recently we’ve been seeing more of each other. Whether that’s because I’m bored or because he’s calling more often, is hard to tell. Suffice it to say that in the past couple weeks, we have been spending more time together than usual.
Yesterday, it was very rainy and cold. All damn day. I was supposed to go out with a girlfriend, Ellen, but because the weather was just so bad, we canceled, rescheduling for today. So I was home, on my sofa, happily snacking on cookies and milk and watching “Ancient Aliens” on the history channel, fully prepared to get into bed early and read when my phone buzzed: Ron sent me a message: I’m on my way to catch the sherut to your place.
No asking, no inquiring, no invitation to do something else. Just “hi! i’m coming over.” Under ordinary circumstances, I’m perfectly fine with this type of plan. In fact, back in the US, people used to do this all the time with me. Before cellphones, they would just show up at my house and after cellphones, I might have gotten a warning text that people were on the way. Totally fine in my book.
So, Ron came over and saw what I was doing and proceeded to criticize me about my plans for the evening.
He told me that I need to go out more and do stuff. When I informed him that I do go out all the time, he scoffed. I demonstrated: I go to the gym, I go shopping, to the grocery store, to my friend’s place, to tutor, to the cafes, to the library. What did he want from me? I was starting to feel attacked. “You’re not going to meet anyone just sitting in your living room or running errands,” He finally said. Woah, buddy….
Ron, in a rather aggressive fashion, informed me that I need to take up a hobby that happens outside. “Well, I like to go to the beach, but it’s winter outside!” I said. Something other than that, he demanded. “What do you like to do?” So I started listing a few of my favorite things…
I like to read.
I like to cook.
I like to crochet.
I like to go to the gym.
I like to play music.
I like to go to the beach.
I like to nap.
I like to have sex [with a good partner].
I like to drink wine.
I like to write.
Apparently this list wasn’t “active” enough to be considered sufficient. That was when he got really mean about it. “You don’t have enough girlfriends. You need to make friends with more girls.” I said, “but I don’t get along with girls all that much.” “Fine. Stay here, in your apartment, alone. Don’t go out. Don’t meet new people.”
Now, when someone starts getting pissy with me, I am not the girl who just rolls over and tries to make it better. “Listen, Ron. I didn’t ask for your advice. I didn’t ask for help. I don’t have trouble meeting men. Just because I want to stay in on a rainy night and watch TV doesn’t mean I’m in need of help.”
Ron: Fine. Then, it was my mistake assuming you were bored at home. Next time I won’t make that mistake. I’ll just tell you to fuck off.
me: What are you talking about?
Ron: Are you bored?
me: only for the last couple days because the weather has been so shitty and no one’s been available.
Ron: then, fuck off.
So, naturally, I threw him out of my apartment. I didn’t ask for his opinion. I didn’t ask for his advice. I didn’t want him to try and fix my situation. I don’t have a situation for him to fix. Me fuck off? Get out of my house.