Cheap Whiskey
(I am going to snap out of this “serious” mood one of these days, I promise!! Geez, I am even starting to scare myself.)
Watching a relationship fall apart is like drinking cheap whiskey, too sharp and plain nasty. There are casualties all around and it is not necessarily restricted to the two people involved.
My friend Mike and his fiancée are heading for a break up as far as I can tell. And I am sick and tired of sitting around while waiting for it to happen. I want them to end the relationship already so that all of us can have peace and go on with our lives. It is like watching a train wreck that happens in slow motion. We all know what is about to happen so why not fast forward to actual collision and skip the multiple angles and gory details.
The worst part of the relationship breaking up is the not one of them has told us what is going on. So I can’t bloody walk up to him and ask him to let me in on whatever is happening.
All the signs are there and it is killing not only the two of them, but the rest of us as well.
Take last Saturday for instance. We are over at their place. Everything looks ok on the surface until her cell phone beeps signaling the arrival of a text message. Before anyone has to react to the sound, she grabs her phone and disappears into the house.
You look over to your mate and you know that he knows that sms did not come from her "granny" who lives on the other side of town. She is seeing someone else. You know it, he knows it; In fact, the whole bloody world knows it and we all make as if nothing is going on. You look over to your gf and recognise the look in her yes. It is the same awkward look you have in yours!
She re-joins the campany about half an hour later. You know she’s been on the phone with someone all that time, because you heard her giggling and laughing when you went inside to get ice from the bar.
The atmosphere is so thick you can make a triple-scoop ice cream out of it. Your girlfriend makes up an excuse about having to go home and you leave soon after.
When you get home, you call up your mate and ask him if everything is ok. He says not too worry, they are dealing with it. In other words, "butt out and mind your own feckin’ beewax". Nice.
If they are dealing with it, then why do I feel like he just poured me a glass of cheap whiskey?
Don't think I'll drink it. I'm not that desperate for alcohol, after all...
