Donald Trump is a Bad Boyfriend

I had a Bad Boyfriend in the late 1980s who was a compulsive liar. He would tell me he was going to the bakery when he was going to the library. He couldn’t help himself. I suppose that the thrill that kleptomaniacs get from stealing a tube of lipstick they can well afford was the same kind of little thrill he experienced by lying. I am not a psychologist; that’s the best I can do, as to why he did what he did.

I knew he lied to me, but I couldn’t prove it. I didn’t actually like him very much. I constantly asked myself why I had agreed to go out with him in the first place. I wouldn’t make a commitment to him, but he finally got me worn down and I decided it wouldn’t kill me to have a sexually exclusive relationship. It wasn’t like I was interested in anyone else.

The next day, after giving my tepid commitment, the love of my life rolled back into town and surprised me. And there I was, stuck in this stupid, awful relationship. The biggest mistake I have ever made was honoring my commitment to a man who didn’t deserve it.

After that, though, I became obsessed with catching this jerk in the act of a lie. It’s mildly tragic that I didn’t have enough self-esteem in my early twenties to just leave because I wanted to, but there you have it. Youth is indeed wasted on the young.