You know what I'm talking about. Soon after you craft a sweater, socks, or ajaunty hat for your boyfriend, a timer begins to count down. A week, a month, and then- he bails. I can't be the only person this has happened to. What I can't figure out, is why it happens. What is it about an article of clothing that chases the man in your life away? Is it the simple act of generosity? Do they, without being able to put it into words, finally comprehend how much we care, because they can see physical evidence of the amount of time we're willing to devote to them?
It's happened in nearly every one of my relationships. I sewed an enormous velvet cloak for Chris, when I lived in Washington. The thing took me months. Within two months, our two year relationship was ashes. Ricci coveted Chris's cloak, so, even though we only dated casually, I made him one (not in velvet though.) I even embroidered his name in silver runes around the hem. He "lost" my address and phone number a week later. Reid and I were togehter six months. We'd even vacationed together for two weeks. He asked for a set of medieval-style clothing, which I made for him. Within a month, he called to say his friends thought he should be single. Sayonara, Reid. I made an outift for Thom, too- which he apparently wore into the tent of some SCA battle bunny. Hasta la vista.
And finally, Jake. Sure we had problems, but we always got over them. Our relationship was strong enough, and I thought our love was secure enough, to overcome anything, even being separated by hundreds or thousands of miles. For three years - well, exactly 2 weeks shy of three years, if you must know- I felt loved and beautiful. Then I gave him socks.
The bell began to toll, and finally keened its death knell tonight.
I'm still a little shell shocked and stunned, unaware if this is some kind of bad dream. Surely our relationship meant more than "We don't have anything in common anymore"? Lots of spouses have different hobbies. Living hundreds of miles apart, it's inevitable we'd have different friends. Odd as it may sound, I guess I was an optimist. I thought our love was common ground enough.
There are plenty of good things to be said about being single again. In a week or so, maybe I'll even be able to face them. I may be able to face, also, the single black sock I already knit for him, at his request. Right now it's too symbolic to bear.