Flavor Of The Week: George On My Mind

My ex-boyfriend George is a sensitive graphic designer who resides in an East Village loft with his two cats, Kermie and Lucky (Lucky earned his name after George found him crying in a trash can in a Brooklyn subway station one night). He knows Europe the way most of us know our hometowns, having lived the dream of taking a year off between high school and college to backpack across it. His mother died of cancer when he was fifteen, and his father is a pediatrician who volunteers in less fortunate communities in his spare time. When George dropped out of Carnegie Mellon’s art and design program he came straight to Manhattan, where he sketched portraits of tourists in Central Park and played his guitar in the subway station to make ends meet.

George stands 6-foot-1 and resembles a less snaggle-toothed Ethan Hawke. He is vegan, but smokes; and he has those rough, manly, nicotine-stained hands—exactly the sort of hands you'd want wiping mustard from your mouth or unlatching your bra. George watches the sun rise as he smokes his second cigarette of the day and sips coffee from a Habitat for Humanity mug on his fire escape; as he overlooks New York City, he gets frustrated that no one notices the homeless but him. He kisses beautifully and puts little love notes in the shoes of his overnight guests, who grow used to waking in his ACLU T-shirt. I used and then dumped George one summer to win back my whiny Jewish ex-fiancé, Allan. Call me crazy—but not for dumping a hunky humanitarian such as George. Call me crazy because as much as I love George, he doesn’t exist.

Naturally, I knew George did not exist. My friends knew, my mother knew, but my ex didn’t know. Exhausted from using everything from halter-tops to Cosmo’s sex guides to win him back, I needed big guns. So I broke out the biggest. Nothing lures an ex-boyfriend back like the perfect new man in your life. None of them want to imagine another dog pissing on their fire hydrant. Unfortunately, perfect boyfriends are hard to come by (hence our return to unworthy exes). But by combining the power of imagination with a sick sense of humor, you too can repossess a second-rate man!

During the next shallow encounter with your wishy-washy conquest—the one where he wants to have his cake and eat yours, too—don't ask the usual questions about him not wanting commitment. Instead, slyly ask how he feels about an open relationship (though most likely you already have one) in a manner hinting that you want your freedom. He will inquire further. Leak out just a little information about your very own George, but do it subtly: “I sort of met someone...”

Say this with a grin that implies you’re seeing yourself in a white dress cutting a cake alongside this mystery person. Your less-than-perfect man-child will shrink a little and ask questions. Hold back your answers, no matter how proud and excited you are about the sleek design and contours of your imaginary boyfriend! You are now the hunter, and he’s the hunted. Present your deer-in-the-headlights with just enough information to invoke fear. Manipulation works best on the fearful.

Break your next date at the last minute. Be aloof about why you can’t make it. Change your story the next time you see him. “Sorry, I totally forgot Becky’s birthday party was that night!”

“I thought you said it was Jen’s going-away party?”

“Oh...yeah...Becky’s birthday was the night before...”

If you really mean business (and you probably do, having come this far already), get an uninhibited girlfriend to give you a hickey. Play with your hair constantly trying to hide it from him. “Accidentally” give the hickey away once he notices your fidgeting. If he inquires, laugh and say, “Oh that...I fell down some stairs!” Immediately change the subject. Leave this date early.

Do not have sex with him. Let his jealousy build for at least two weeks before putting out. Let him imagine you’re getting your needs met by George as you leak more and more information about your new soul mate. If he’s not a nail-biter, he’ll become one. Don’t return his calls. You're obviously busy dating your ideal man.   You’re ready for your close-up. Once your man is teased and titillated to the hilt, it’s time to let him please you. Consent to sex, then be the wettest rag he’s ever seen. Resist kissing him; you’re just there for the orgasm, like coffee to go. Don’t say his name. Do wear your hottest lingerie and leave the lights on. Do all of this as though you’ve been training for the Olympics: This is your shining moment. But going for the gold will require less athleticism and more acting skills. Be as unenthusiastic as possible when you climax. Don’t make eye contact. Give the impression that a pedicure with bunion-scraping is more stimulating than what he’s doing to your girl parts. Don’t sleep over. The best possible post-coital maneuver is to let him fall asleep and then sneak out. Keep it convincing, and although you won’t have a gold statue to clutch, you’ll still be recognized and rewarded for this performance.

When he calls the next day (very early) tell him you need time. Tell him all about George, and how you think you’re falling in (*gulp*)...love! You may even wish to muster tears, especially if you’re not a crier. Your betrayal to this God-among-men is devastating, and now your ex is a moving violation on your perfect driving record. Treat him as though he’s the eggplant parmesan that gave you food poisoning. Although once your favorite food, you may never be able to eat it again. He is but a vile memory of diarrhea and vomit now, and you’re just not sure if he’ll ever redeem his stomach-churning ways and be palatable again. Don’t tell him you “need time.” Be aloof. Be traumatized. Sex with him is the most disturbing thing that’s ever happened to you. Turn your phone off at night, because this is when he starts getting drunk and calling incessantly. Try to sleep over at the homes of your girlfriends, so when he shows up intoxicated and doorbell-happy your sleep is not disturbed. Rest assured that his is.

Now you see what your man is made of, and it’s most likely putty. Give him time to blow your mind with his biggest exhibit of resuscitated love before letting him in entirely. You’ve worked hard to get him here, so don’t rush past the payoff. Sit back and enjoy the serenade outside your window, flowers sent to your workplace and misuse of your hidden spare key. Now that you’ve let him back in, be sure to cover your ass and keep that threat of George alive and well. Whenever he wants to discuss why the two of you called it quits, grow wistful and silent, indicating that the pain of the experience is too much for you to talk about. Have your friends call occasionally in the middle of the night. Assign their number in your phone as “George” and leave it in the room with him while you’re in the bathroom or walking the dog. Make sure your friends are prepared for him to pick up, shouting obscenities and death threats. When you reenter the room, be ready to have your brains fucked out. Enjoy! It’s just a matter of time until you’re sick of your real man and miss that imaginary one who never left the seat up or ate off your plate. I guarantee that by following these simple steps you will get your man back.

Hopefully a mere mortal will be enough for you, once you’ve dated the man of your dreams. There are times between boyfriends that I like to whip up a little George, just for me, and feel totally independent and well-loved. I sit on my porch after a tough waitressing shift, drinking coffee I absent-mindedly brewed for two, and I imagine George there rubbing my feet, telling me I am the most beautiful woman in the world. He would know, because George has seen it all.