Trust Me

I trust F. I know he wouldn’t cheat on me. He’s not that kind of person. As I told my brother, whom I asked to be my eyes and ears and the judge of good taste at F’s bachelor party, (14 months in advance) it’s not F I don’t trust, it’s his friends I don’t trust.

So when F comes home last week and tells me he has an assistant, fresh out of college, and oh yeah, it’s a female, you’d think I’d be cool as a cucumber, right? Yeah, not so much. At first, I was fine. He couldn’t remember her name, how threatening could she be right? He’s since learned her name. “R graduated from University A.” “R worked at ABC before she came here.” “R asked a lot of questions. Not that I mind, it makes me think how to explain it to her. She asks a lot of questions.” “R is really smart. She’s picking things up quickly.”
But the one that bothers me the most? How impressed he is with her eating. F is a VERY fast eater. I’m always telling him to slow down. I’m still preparing my food and he’s wiping his plate clean. Twice now he’s made a point of telling me, “That R. She’s really different. She out ate me! I couldn’t believe it!” “We went to the taco place for lunch today. R? She out ate me! AGAIN!!! It’s the weirdest thing.” Said with a sense of wonder, and PRIDE.

She eats like a boy, is young and probably thin, and speaks his work language. I am none of these things. They spend all day together. She doesn’t tell him pick up his dirty clothes, she doesn’t sigh and roll her eyes because he left the bread open AGAIN, she doesn’t get upset when he uses her bath towel or doesn’t pick up the step-out towel. It puts me on edge a bit.

Bring on The Crazy.