RICK JERK
I met Rich Jerk online. He was a tall, funny, smart, gorgeous real estate mogul and charm-ing. Date 1: Dream! He fed me oysters. Date after date was amazing. He sent me purple calla lilies and texts all day. Two months later, he showed me an insane loft he was considering. “I imagine living here with you,” he said. Did I mention the closet space? I fell hard… until he whisked me to his Malibu estate. That’s when “jerk” emerged. He had a plane (Nuts!). I woke up from a nap, drooling. Embarrassing. Even moreso when he snapped at me for “ruining the silk pillowcase.” When we entered his all-white, enormous abode, my bag fell over. “Watch what you’re doing,” he yelled, inspecting the marble floor for cracks (it wasn’t a bowling ball). Before bed, I washed my hands and couldn’t find a towel. I shook them over the sink. “We use towels,” he scolded, pointing to the drawer where they were hidden. I hoped he was just tired and cranky. This couldn’t be the same guy! We hit a posh party Saturday. I busted out a chic LBD and felt amazing, hoping the guy I swooned over would come back. I did the “how do I look spin,” expecting a kiss. He actually said, “Slutty dress.” BTW: It was not tight and below my knee. Just backless. No one talks smack about my clothes! At the event – here’s the clincher – his friend asked what I do. He jumped in, “not much.” Ouch! I cried in the bathroom and booked a flight home! Where did this anger come from so suddenly? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just wanted out! When I left, he called me very bad names. I sobbed the whole way back to NY (in said LBD).
Mwah!
