Countdown to Breakdown

What's-his-face and I were sitting in a Japanese restaurant.

"Sushi makes me happy," I giggled. I couldn't stop smiling at the menu in front of me. "I was at a sushi bar in Peachtree City and this Japanese guy sits next me. He was actually Japanese-- his wife in kids still live in Japan and he works here and sends them money. He told me that hibachi is a purely American thing. They don't have hibachi in Japan. The idea of that really upset me, I love hibachi too!" I babbled.

The bill came. The waitress set it directly in front of what's-his-face and walked away. He pulled it to him and opened it up. Don't do it, I told myself, but I went for the fake reach again. Very slowly.

"Split it down the middle," he told the waitress. Dammit!

"Let's go to my friend's house," he said.

"Huh?"

"He has a pool table and more people might be coming over. Do you mind?"

"Uh, no. That's fine."

"Okay so I'll drive you back to your car and you can follow me there."

Sexy.

We were walking back through a gravel lot to his car. I was walking slowly, heels make gravel difficult to maneuver through. He actually sped up to get around some people walking in front of us. By the time I made it to his car, he was sitting behind the wheel waiting for me. I opened my own car door and got in.

This might be the difference between Yankees and Southerners. I am used to having car doors opened for me. I am used to not having to go dutch. I'm not used to following my date around in my own car. How am I supposed to feel romantically towards someone that's treating me like a friend?

As I'm following what's-his-face to his friend's house, I felt the urge to turn left and go home. I don't know anything about this guy. He doesn't call me, except to make plans. And the one chance I'm getting to find out who he is, is being spent at his friend's house.

I'm not a shy person by any standards, but the three of them were talking about things and people I have no idea about. I did pick up on the fact that what's-his-face, his friend, and his friend's wife are all unemployed and all they do is hang out with each other all day every day. And they all own homes.

This is beyond me. I work full-time and have an apartment I can barely afford and none of them work and own houses. How is that couple still married, sitting around the house together all the time? She was saying how she just ordered a semi-truck double stacked with furniture. What? I still buy second hand furniture!

"So where did you go for dinner?" the wife asks.

"Sushi. I thought of you while we were there," what's-his-face responds. "You know, they don't have hibachi in Japan. It's a purely American thing."

I eyed him incredulously, he didn't give me any credit for knowing that. All of a sudden I got dizzy and had to find a place to sit down. I couldn't see straight and it felt like there were a pile of bricks on my chest. That's what my ex used to do, take credit for my ideas and my knowledge to make himself look smarter. Screw how I looked, he just took and took and sucked me dry. My mind flashed through the whole ugly unfolding of my relationship with the ex and I couldn't breathe.

Why does what's-his-face need to look smarter? He's a lawyer. Why couldn't he just say, "Sarah told me that?" I felt plagiarized.

This is new. I never knew I had this issue. I thought I had grown so much, but I was sitting on a toilet with my head between my knees. "I'm damaged," I whispered into my hands. I haven't even been with my ex for five years and I'm on the verge of having a panic attack. "I'm damaged," I said again, louder, to acknowledge it. I blew my nose and wiped my sweaty palms on my knees.

I thought I was doing so well, but apparently I am not.