Woody & My IBF

I thought I have two boyfriends: my imaginary boyfriend, and my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. Upon further reflection, I have three. My imaginary boyfriend is perfect in every way. My almost-real IBF is really two: the text ARIBF, and the phone ARIBF.  Maybe there there's a third in there, the in-person ARIBF (we're getting very Sybil here, aren't we?).


For now, let's address the text and phone versions.


One day, I texted him that texting is very elegant, but very dangerous. Meeting would be either a wonderful surprise or a terrible letdown. He made one of his infrequent calls to me. What are your expectations, he asked. I was at a loss for words. I assumed he meant for the relationship, but later I knew that he just meant for the meeting. Then later it seemed as if he really meant the relationship. In any case, I found myself half cooing and half lamenting that I just didn't know. I don't know, I repeated softly. I knew.


I was sitting on the only stool I have, pulled up to my wooden kitchen counters. I like my horizontal surfaces bare. The kitchen is almost always tidy, with a pile of things to go up to the office, and another pile to be taken care of, things like the dry cleaning, the bank deposits, the new insurance card, the fabric grocery bags. They are on the side counter by the door. But the island and the stool are always empty, save for the pottery spoon holder I bought in France three years ago.


The stool is really bar height and almost knocks the bottom of the counter. The last owner of my house was 6'7", and he left it behind. I guess his knees would jam against his chin if used a regular counter-height stool.


I plunked myself on top of the pine-topped stool and nearly put my shoulders on the surface. The phone was on speaker in front of me. I hate the iPhone 4 because I always lean on it the wrong way and cut off my calls. Also, I end up on the video thing upside down and sideways until I can figure out how to turn it off.


In such a position, in such a place, I was forced to pay full attention to the call. I often empty the dishwasher, play computer games and even read the paper or a magazine while on the phone. There was nothing to touch on that counter.


As we talked, I told him that there would be no video, and no photos.  I meant compromising ones, but who knows how it came out. Why?, he asked. Because someday I will be someone's wife, I said. I thought that I was hoping his.  


My imagination has gotten way out of control.  Because there is nobody there, I can make whatever I want be there.  In my fantasy, I am given a huge diamond and live in luxury in both his and my houses. He would love me unconditionally, and we would have wild sex frequently. We'd also travel on exotic car trips, like through the unpaved roads of South America, or across Mongolia. We would both be deliriously happy.  


Mostly, though, our phone conversations are dull and business-like.  I yearn to have real connection this way.  Am I an on-line relationship? Aren't those for fat, ugly girls that don't want anybody to see past their great personalities? And yet I am. And I am going insane. 


But our texting is sublime.  Witty, funny, tantalizing, and smart. I honestly think this is me, maybe attenuated a bit, but the phone and face time are dreadful. It is almost too late. It either gets real or it doesn't.  If I'm honest, it probably won't, but I can let go of the fantasy.


This is about my two almost-real imaginary boyfriends, best addressed by Mary Wells:


Well, I've got two lovers,
and I ain't ashamed.
Two lovers, and I love them both the same.
Two lovers, and I ain't ashamed, two
lovers and I love them both the same.

Let me tell you bout, my first lover.
Well, he's sweet and kind.
Treats me good like a lover should.
And makes me love him.
I really love him, oh, oh, I love him so.
And I'll do everything I can to let him know.

But, I've got two lovers, and I ain't ashamed.
Two lovers, and I love them both the same.
Let me tell you bout my other lover.

Well, you see he treats me bad.
Makes me sad.
Makes me cry, but still I can't deny.
I love him, I really love him. oh, oh, I 
love him so. And I'll do everything I can to let him know.

Darlin, don't you know I can tell. 
That whenever I look at you, that you think
that I'm untrue, cause I say that I love two.
But, I really, really do.
Cause, you're a split personality.
And in reality, both of them are you.
(they both are you)

Well, I've got two lovers... 


My third boyfriend, of course, the imaginary one, is perfect.