A friend recently pointed out that three Approval Whore (AW) anecdotes have gone unpublished. Each occurred during the Dark Year, when I wanted out but wanted a place to stay in Redmond even more. Not coincidentally, each was particularly painful for me, as I had to swallow my rage, smile, and act as though nothing objectionable had happened. If you want to know what your pain threshold is, try that sometime. So here they are, in reverse chronological order.
Two weeks before breakup
I find a receipt for tickets to a New Year's Eve party to which I am most decidedly not invited. Crap. I'm not going to make it to the next tax year, am I? I wonder if the new guy would mind me crashing here? I say nothing about it, hoping to make it a couple more weeks, but soon I can't resist suggesting that she and I go away for New Year's, my treat. Crushed by anxiety, AW swallows her entire face.
Three months before breakup
Looking for a file by searching her laptop for my last name, I get a hit on "roses.txt." That's odd. I open the file and discover that she's gotten into my Hotmail account and meticulously copied and pasted the contents of dozens of 5-year old emails between me and an old flame. I say nothing, and man, it sure is hard not to use this nuke. Dorkass marvels at my restraint.
Six months before breakup
Awakening at AW's place in Redmond, I discover that she left her gate wide open and that my idiot dog, Ed, has disappeared. I don't blame AW outwardly, but inwardly I want to flog her for a) endangering my dog's life and b) cheerfully avoiding responsibility. Several hours of frantic dog-calling and corpse-searching are fruitless, so I make a flyer offering a $500 reward for Ed's safe return. I'm still hanging flyers when AW's neighbor calls and says he's seen the signs, and yes, he has my dog. We pick up Ed, and I give the man a $500 check. AW is aghast. "I cannot believe that guy took your money," she says, disgusted. "So rude." I stare at her and silently wait for her to finish assessing the logic and culpability of the situation. But she was quite finished. Alas, such is life on Planet AW.
It's amazing how fast you can dial down from the terror and hysteria about your dog being injured, scared, or dead. As soon as I saw that the little idiot was just fine, it was like a switch was thrown. Terror, off. Irritation, on. "Get your dumb ass in the car."