Plane Crash

Fly High. Crash Hard.

R.B. Winters
R.B. Winters
Dating, Mile High, Russian, Sister Wife Leave a Comment

Plane CrashThey say that wisdom comes with age and common sense is something you can’t learn. So it seems odd a person would ignore all common sense and repeat what should be an obvious mistake, but it happens more often than anyone would like to admit.

Mile High is a British guy whom I actually met ten years ago in Utah. See, he was the new boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend, and we met and slept together. My original motivation was to give a huge middle finger to my ex more than anything else.

We’ve been in touch over the years on social media and he’d mention coming to visit, an easy thing for him as he’s a flight attendant and obviously has access to cheap airline tickets. Throwing caution to the wind he came for a three-day visit and everything was great. That kind of great feeling you usually get after one really good night out with someone new. Where you get the maybe feelings about what it could be and a future. As a side note, my pessimistic self knows better and I’m personally shaming myself by putting this in here as a reminder to use my better bitter judgment.

A month goes by and another two-day visit was planned. This short visit turned into an unplanned ten-day visit when Mile High was robbed on his layover and left penniless in the Midwest. Instead of going home to Chicago he made the decision to come to me. Feeling obligated and a little sorry for him, I let him come and that’s really where I made the biggest mistake.

The robbery, and this is the version of the story I believe to be true after hearing several iterations and patching together facts, was an online hookup gone wrong. What should have been a night of sexy fun turned into a night of lost wallets and flying fists. Stranded here, Mile High needed a new passport, debit card and means to get back to work and his life. In the meantime, I was made into a sort of short-term life support.

The week really came to a breaking point when we went to the Russian’s barbecue in Astoria. I was hesitant to bring a boy around my friends, not because they won’t play nice, but because I would rather not waste their time introducing someone they’ll never see again. Mile High, as the Russian said, is the biggest know-it-all of knowing it all, and he’s right. Pick any topic and he has ten opinions and twenty-five facts to tell you all about. It’s annoying.

Once the wine began to flow it didn’t get better, Mile High was playing with my Sister Wife’s hair [that’s my lady straight]. We couldn’t get his fingers out of her hair, isn’t it obvious you don’t touch other adults? But it didn’t end there, oh no, Mile High for some unknown reason dumped a full glass of water in my lap and all over my brand new watch. This made me bark at him, was he wanting my negative attention? Because that’s what he received along with some hate filled glares.

As Mile High palmed his face and began to cry I leaned in and said, “Do not embarrass me in front of my friends. Suck it up and put on your best Upper East Side big girl face. Pull it together.” To my surprise he actually did get it together, until we walked to the train. I can be a psychotic mess, everyone knows that, but in public I do a good job of keeping emotions to myself, no one wants to hear other people’s drama. But this time it didn’t stop me. Mile High pushed one too many buttons and I told him this was going nowhere right there in what I hope was less than a shrieking scream.

His final three days were not so much awkward as long and uncomfortable. I believe we can remain social media friends, but if he forgets me and never reaches out again I don’t think it will be too painful.