My boyfriend is a big part of my life. So much so that, in the throes of a melodramatic temper tantrum, I often adamantly and forlornly claim that he is my only friend and demand that he return from the forests of Vermont (where he works at a ski resort) to the suburbia that is Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania. He would never have it.
However, I was spoiled for two months this summer when he decided to live and work at home (which is two hours north of where I currently reside and also where I had been living at the time), and now that we are each back in our respective homes-away-from home, I have returned to my role of “the long-distance girlfriend,” living alone in my adorably-decorated one-bedroom above a comic book store and occasionally talking to my succulents. The problem is that he moved into a new house, one that is apparently out of AT&T’s service range and also currently without WIFI, seeing as he and his roommates moved in only two days ago.
So NOW I am not only “the long-distance girlfriend;” I am the-long-distance-girlfriend-who-has-been-completely-cut-off-from-her-counterpart-and-sometimes-only-friend.
Yesterday he bought a Verizon TracFone, the number of which is saved in my phone as “Chris’s ghetto flip phone,” because it takes him five minutes to type out a seven word text message. But he had to drive to New Hampshire to acquire said Tracfone, and only put $15 worth of minutes on it, and now has to conserve minutes and text messages for only the most important of instances, which do not include panic attacks about how much work I have due this week or picture messages of my Halloween nails (I did say he is my only friend). They are “hopefully getting WIFI during the week…maybe.” Although, he is quite good about calling from his iPhone when he is not at the house to say hello and I love you (like during that 10 minute span where he went out for a sandwich), but those windows are limited and do not always coincide with my availability. Sigh. I know I’m ridiculous, but who am I going to call when I see an adorable Saint Bernard across the street, or have an amazing yoga class, or eat macaroni & cheese pizza?
[Disclaimer: I promise I am not usually this needy or whiny, but quitting contact with my favorite person in the world cold-turkey has made me a bit of a madwoman.]