Tough Love

"Hurry up, you a##hole!!"

"Shut the f##k up, you crazy moron."

"That's it! Get out now! I don't want you here any more. Go back to FatBoy" (my ex). "Get the hell out or I'm calling the police and telling them you won't leave my apartment."

"Oh, shove it up your skinny white butt, jerkoff."

Does this sound like a relationship on the edge? It's not. It's my relationship--and I've never been happier in my life.

If you've ever seen the episode of Sex and the City where Carrie finally farts in front of Mr. Big and is completely mortified (he laughs it off) you might relate to the fact that there is a crossroads that has to be passed through for any successful, long term relationship to thrive.

On my first date with my boyfriend, I was too nervous and self-conscious to eat in front of him. Now I burp rudely and blissfully continue to eat without reservation even as he tells me to stop "feeding my bloated belly." He backs up into me and vengefully farts in my face when I insult him.

Let's face it, we're all human. Sometimes I go to the bathroom. I get my period. I wake up with nightmare hair.

But I know, as surely as I know anything, that Bowleg Guy loves me dearly, and I worship him. He's seen me at my very worst and it doesn't matter at all to him.

When I was in the hospital, he visited me every day for hours on end. He brought me candy and flowers. When he had to go into the hospital, I was there for him as well. When he detoxed from methadone, I nursed him for a month, never leaving his side. We've been through the "for better or worse" stuff countless times over. And it just keeps getting better.

There was a time where we didn't understand each other as well. I know now that my boyfriend loves to be dramatic. He gets so upset if he thinks the grocery clerk cheated him out of 5 cents that I fear I'm going to have to have him committed. Similarly, a few months ago, he bought an eight dollar chain for the inside of the front door--the kind you can open if you want to talk to someone but not let them in. A few times I forgot the chain was there and gave it a yank. It was a cheap piece of sh#t anyway.

So I'm in the shower today and he bellows: "Someone's been in our apartment! Look, the link on the chain is SAWED OFF!"

I replied, "Look, you crazy paranoid f#ckhead. I pulled the chain and loosened it."

"No! Someone broke in!"

"So why wouldn't they STEAL anything, you moronic a##hole?"

"Shut the f#uck up. I want you out of here now. Go back to Wormboy (another of his nicknames for my ex).

I love it.

Back in the day, he used to go into these "get out" tirades and I was so hurt and puzzled I started to cry. But I eventually realized he was just letting off steam with his little psychodramas. After we cooled down, he would always apologize and tell me that of course he never wanted me to leave--he was just feeling jealous of Mr. Lugub (short for Mr. Lugubrious, yet another knickname for my ex). I realized that when we are too "nice" and polite to each other, we let resentments build up--and an explosion is inevitable. But now we bicker joyfully, constantly, endlessly, like those old married couples you see in the supermarket:

"Herman! Where are you going? I got the tuna fish that was on sale! Put that back!"

"Stop nagging me. Where's the cookies I wanted?:"

"You can't have cookies. You're diabetic!"

We just take it to a higher (or lower) level of psychodrama. We gleefully insult each other all the time and crack each other up. We have truly reached the point where we can vent in a humorous, tongue in cheek way that is a big kick for both of us. He roars, and I screech loudly like the bitchy Jewish harpy that I am.

But we also talk for hours on end about anything and everything. We are essentially inseparable. My only fear is that if something should ever happen to him I'd be so berefit that I'd probably wind up in the rubber room in Manhattan State.

So if you love someone, don't fear the farts.