To properly celebrate Woman's History Month, I will write about ex-girlfriends and other women I have encountered. All names have been changed to protect the subjects. I write these not from a misogynistic viewpoint, but from a place of sincere appreciation. I would not trade my experiences, my relationships, for all the graft in Tom DeLay's overseas bank accounts.

You so horny but me so hungry

It is true. I dumped a girl not because of boredom or aspirations for a better girlfriend. In the end, I did it because I was hungry, really hungry.

This story takes place about a month or two after Sally Slingblade (previous story). There were other women (and girls) in between. Maybe I'll get to them later.

I'll forgo flowery language and get to the point. Betty was big-boobed. I met her in a theatre class. We went to a play together (My Fair Lady?) and the second act started, not with "The Rain in Spain," but with tongue in mouth and hand on crotch. We made it back to the dorm, rolled in the hay for a few hours and seemed to hit it off well, physically speaking.

Betty was a free-spirit, sexually expressive, and fairly interesting conversation. Problem: she was a commuter. Big deal, you say. What does that have to do with things?

My answer is, a lot, about 1,000 calories a day.

Being a commuter, one has a lot of spare time in between classes--too long of a drive to head home after every class; too close to justify paying room and board. My sojourns to the dining hall were almost always met with a greeting from young Betty, eager for my company and maybe a free ham sandwich.

Back then, the dining hall was not an all you can eat buffet. You were allowed one pass through the serving area, had a choice of the entrée, two of either burgers or dogs, or some rancid cold cuts (do they really think people eat pimento loaf?). Never wanting to be an ungracious host, I’d always ask Betty what she wanted and my plate would be filled with food for two.

Problem was, it wasn’t food for two. It was food for maybe 1.5, and thus I was only getting .75 of a meal. I led a pretty active lifestyle back then—running biking, classes, studying, student government, partying. I just didn’t think it would be possible to carry-on like this. When dinner interludes turned into three squares a day for young Betty, I realized that things would have to change.

Sexually speaking I was still pretty green (I think she was my third) and I enjoyed the steady diet of hump. It wasn’t an easy call, but I made the decision that Betty would have to go. My meals had to return to their original form: MY meals.

I suppose you could say I was growing up. I chose that which is necessary to live over that which is desired to live well—asparagus over ass, oatmeal over oral, hamburgers over hand manipulation.

I broke things off without ever giving her the real reason for my dissatisfaction. I think I said something to the effect of, “I like you, but I want to see other people, perhaps an anorexic.”

I hope Betty has fond memories of me (I always do). She was a cool kid and now holds the position of story number two in ArtieLange’s salute to Women’s History Month.