I always found The Pedant just extraordinarily hot, which is why I put up with the amount of shit from him that I did. He was a vaguely dangerous-looking goth boy of the sort that I’ve always lusted after but who rarely – if ever – wanted me back, usually because I am neither goth nor dangerous-looking. But The Pedant did want me. He was a sinewy, wolfishly gorgeous, high-cheekboned man with long hair and amazing outfits, and I got to peel those outfits off him and fuck the shit out of him and it never stopped feeling validating.
But in the past year or two he’s started going seriously bald – his hairline was receding when I met him but now it’s receded even more and the whole top of his hair has thinned way out to where I can see the ghost of male-pattern baldness underneath (and dude has a huge noggin – he used to get his turtlenecks custom made because a storebought one the right size for his body wouldn’t go over his gigantic melon head – so his very receded hairline leaves nothing to break up the vast, domed expanse of his forehead). And he’s gained weight. Once upon a time he used to be heavier, but it was distributed all over so he just looked pleasingly solid. Then he lost weight for a while and his body was all slender and tight. Now he’s still thin all over except for a bulbous little middle-aged paunch that strains the bottom few buttons on his shirts. I don’t even mind a guy having a belly – The Dandy has quite a lot of extra weight on him and so did The Bunny – but The Pedant carries his weight in a very “suburban middle-management dude who’s given up on life” kind of way, and what originally attracted me to him was that he looked like the antithesis of all of that. He was otherworldly. Now he’s just some paunchy security guard.
If he had still been making me happy, his changed appearance barely would have registered with me. But he’d stopped doing all the things I liked several months before we broke up, and he was no longer the pretty shiny thing I’d once fetishized, so it’s just as well he dropped the hammer. It frees me from a whole huge dilemma I would inevitably have had, wanting to preserve the relationship because we had all that history together and he was almost what I wanted, but at the same time not feeling happy with him or even attracted to him anymore.
It also gives me a warm glow of schadenfreude to imagine that perhaps other women will be put off by his prematurely middle-aged appearance, too, and he won’t have as much luck getting laid as he used to. I want to be the last woman ever to dote on him and call him beautiful. And I want him to be painfully aware of this and to realize that he fucked up by letting me go.