The Tipping Point

Ever since I started seeing Mr. Curls, I've been waiting for the moment. From the moment he started talking to me at the bar, I've been waiting for that voice inside my head to scream, "run!"

I waited for it through our first few dates. I waited for it when he told me about the exes and kids. I waited for it the first time we slept together, and on and on. I kept waiting, and it didn't come. I expected it, because any time I get involved with a guy, any time I feel like I could really fall for someone, a piece of me gets terrified. During the beginning of my relationship with my ex, right after the first time we kissed, I heard that voice.

So, after all this time, with Mr. Curls, I've been waiting for it. When it didn't speak up all those times I thought it would, I wondered what was going on. "What the hell?" I thought. "How am I not freaking? I should be freaking. I have every reason to be having a panic attack. Where is it?" I mean, come on, all that baggage and I hardly batted an eye. What gives?

Turns out, it was just a matter of having the right trigger. The other day, at the wedding, I was standing at the driver's side of his jeep while Mr. Curls got his nice shoes on and I saw a pack of cigarettes on the door. I'd noticed a thing or two, like that stale smoke smell in his apartment, but had chalked it up to previous tenant because in all the time we've spent together, he's never taken a smoke break. So, I assumed non-smoker. When I asked him about it later, he got uncomfortable and said he's trying to quit. He's ashamed of the nicotine habit, but he's got one nonetheless.

Cue the voice. The whole time I was growing up, my mom smoked. I hated it and the smoke was so... oppressive and inescapable. Second hand smoke is something I have a strong, visceral revulsion to. Everything else I've taken in stride. Ex-wives? Okay. Kids? Okay. But, a few cigarettes and all I could think was, "I can't take this!" That's when I had my first thoughts about whether or not Mr. Curls was more than I could handle. That's when I had my first thoughts of, "How do I tell him it's over?"

I know, of all things, it may seem strange that that's my tipping point. The thing is, I'm glad for it. I recognize that moment for what it was, panic. At the same time, it was a reality check. It's the first official thing that I dislike about him. My whole thing so far has been that, while I'm not such a huge fan of some of his circumstances, I'm awful impressed by the guy himself. Except this. This I hate.

Up until now, I've been going along, believing that Mr. Curls could very well be my long-haul guy. Now I have doubt. Not that I want to call it off right now, but the rosy glasses are gone. Damn it. The smoking thing is typically one of the few hard-fast deal-breakers I have, but it's too late for that. At this point, it's too complicated for easy distinctions.

That's the annoying thing about relationships. They're complicated. My life would be so much simpler right now if I had stayed home from the bar that night. Such a little thing, the decision to walk out the door, but boy, look at the ripples.