Red flag #4: His True Friend is a True Jerk
Not sure your new boyfriend is as "nice and normal" as he appears? Ask to meet his closest friend.
Typically it takes a few weeks of dating before you get to meet the new boyfriend’s best friend. When you do, pay careful attention lest you experience my fate. Years later, I still cringe at the thought of it.
Here’s what happened.
I met Robert online and after a rapid fire exchange of witticisms (mine) and entertaining retorts (his), we decided to meet for a drink. A big bear of a man (a description which I later changed to, “he’s fat as a house”), I immediately put him in the safe and cuddly box. This assessment turned out to be half wrong.
I moved in with Robert after a month of dating. (I had my reasons–they were all insane.) To any outsider, Robert, an attorney, appeared to lead a pleasant and orderly life. He got up at 6:30 AM every day; seemed enthralled by me; got excited about trying new recipes and wines; and took the whole corporate attorney thing in stride–upon arriving home, the first words out of his mouth were, “I’ve got to get out of this monkey suit.”
One night after dinner, just as we were wondering what was on TIVO, the doorbell rang. I gave Robert a startled look as this had never happened before.
“It’s Bullwinkle,” Robert said as he went for the door.
“The cartoon character?” I asked incredulous. “He’s alive?”
“No, numnuts,” he said, “My buddy, Adam.”
That was the first bad sign—his friend was named after a moose.
The second was Adam himself. Six-five and on the hefty side, everything about Adam was super-sized. He talked too loudly, smelled like a gas station, and dressed like a slob. He charged through the door and lumbered over to the couch where I was sitting.
“She’s hot,” he said staring at my chest. What’s her name?” I crunched up my nose and tried not to breathe.
“Knock it off, Bull,” Robert said indulgently. “That’s Pam.”
Bullwinkle pounded his feet on the floor and yelled, “Oh yeah!” holding up the third bad sign: a gallon of vodka.
The fourth bad sign I would not have predicted as the eighties were a long, long time ago. Robert reached deep into a cupboard and pulled out what turned out to be a bag of Coke. They cut lines, bowed, and snorted deeply. It was like watching two jet airplanes fire up and get ready for take-off.
It was horrible.
I watched them taxi out to the backyard–two monster-sized idiots, carrying jumbo-sized vodka-and-tonics, having just lost their pea-sized brains. Then I went to bed, locking the door behind me and jamming a chair under the knob.
A loud thud woke me around 4 AM. I found Robert teetering in the hallway like a life-size punching clown. I punched him and went back to bed.
I’m embarrassed to admit, I had a codependent streak in those days: I stuck around thinking I could make him stay the nice, normal Robert I’d met on our first date–not the binge-drinking-and-snorting guy he turned into every weekend. When I tried to talk to him about it, he’d complain, “You just don’t like my friends.” Couldn’t argue with that, I thought to myself. It soon dawned on me, I didn’t like Robert either.
I guess the point of the story is, if you suspect a guy you just started seeing has a dark or secret side, ask to meet his best friend. Then step back and watch them do their thing together. If you’re right, you’ll have to decide if there’s enough room in the relationship for you, Dr Jekyll, Mr Hyde, and all their buddies. Here, let me save you the trouble: there’s not.
Red flag #4: His best friend is a big jerk
Typically it takes a few weeks of dating before you get to meet the new boyfriend’s best friend. When you do, pay careful attention lest you experience my fate. I still cringe at the thought of it. Here’s what happened.
I met Robert online and after a rapid fire exchange of witticisms (mine) and entertaining retorts (his), we decided to meet for a drink. A big bear of a man (a description which I later changed to, “he’s fat as a house”), I immediately put him in the safe and cuddly box. This assessment turned out to be half wrong.
I moved in with Robert after a month of dating. (I had my reasons–they were all insane.) To any outsider, Robert, an attorney, appeared to lead a nice, orderly life. He got up at 6:30 AM every weekday for work; got excited about trying new recipes; seemed enthralled by me; and took the whole corporate attorney thing in stride: upon arriving home, the first words out of his mouth were, “I’ve got to get out of this monkey suit,” as he ripped off his tie.
One night after dinner and just as we were wondering what was on TIVO, the doorbell rang. I gave Robert a startled look as this had never happened before.
“It’s Bullwinkle,” Robert said as he went for the door.
“The cartoon character?” I asked incredulous. “He’s alive?”
“No, numnuts,” he said, “My buddy, Adam.”
That was the first bad sign—his friend was named after a moose.
The second was Adam himself. Six-five and on the hefty side, Adam was super-sized. He talked too loudly, smelled like a gas station, and his shorts and t-shirt were stained and filled with holes. He lumbered over to the couch where I was sitting.
“She’s hot,” he said staring at my chest. What’s her name?” I crunched up my nose and tried not to breathe.
“Knock it off, Bull,” Robert said indulgently. “That’s Pam.”
Bullwinkle pounded his feet on the floor and yelled, “Oh yeah!” holding up the third bad sign: a gallon of vodka.
The fourth bad sign I would not have predicted as the eighties were a long, long time ago. Robert reached deep into a cupboard and pulled out a bag of Coke. They cut lines, bowed, and snorted deeply. Next thing you know, it was as though two jet airplanes had just fired up and were ready for take-off.
They taxied out to the backyard–two monster-sized idiots, carrying jumbo-sized vodka-and-tonics, having just lost their pea-sized brains.
I went to bed, stared at the ceiling for hours wondering what the hell that was, and finally fell asleep. A loud thud woke me around 4 AM and I found Robert teetering in the hallway like a weighted punching clown. I punched him and returned to bed.
I’m embarrassed to say I had a codependent streak in those days and stuck around thinking I could change him to the nice, normal Robert I’d met on our first date. When I tried to talk to him about this drinking and drug binges, he’d complain, “You just don’t like my friends.” Couldn’t argue with that, I thought to myself. I eventually realized I didn’t like Robert either.
I guess the point of the story is, if you suspect a guy you’re seeing has a dark or secret side, ask to meet his best friend. Then step back and watch them do their thing together. If you’re right, you’ll have to decide if there’s enough room in the relationship for you, Dr Jekyl, and Mr Hyde. Or you can just take it from me: there’s not.
(1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)
Loading ...If you enjoyed this post, please leave a comment and subscribe via email or in a feed reader to receive future articles and join the conversation!
Comments
Miss AB: First you have a very impressive name, Ardeth Blood. I comment you on the dramatic appeal of it. It’s so Agatha Christie-ish (I’ve read every thing she’s written). Second, you raise a great question and I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve definitely known some great guys who just don’t get the social thing. This is different from the guy who is social and has a collection of friend who think are assholes (as I described in my post). The guy I think you mean is one who almost seems to not need friends — they live in their heads, or online, or whatever. They connect to people they work with because they can share work talk but beyond that, social discourse seems to allude them (though somehow they managed to make it through some dates with me). It seems to me that it gets down to this — do you feel connected with him and is he engaging? Or are you bored out of your mind–tired of asking questions to get him to talk, tired of being the social planner (only to have him sit there like a broken car), tired of watching him sit at a computer while you itch to have fun and share your lives with other people? I If you answered yes to any of this, it may well be a lifestyle disconnect, at which point you have to ask yourself, do I stay on his island of one or move back to the mainland?
My Grandmother always said you can judge a person by their friends.
Now you got me wondering about guys who don’t have any real friends outside of their co-workers? What would that say about them?