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" Every day that Blythe&amp;#039;s mom stays at her apartment, I&amp;#039;m closer to packing my things in my car and driving up to Becky&amp;#039;s place. The woman knows no boundaries. I&amp;#039;ll be watching a game on TV and she&amp;#039;ll literally walk over and turn the set off saying, &amp;quot;I would like to read.&amp;quot;  She treats me like I&amp;#039;m 10 years old, criticizing me for the way I dry dishes or the clothes I wear. &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re going to wear that outside, like, in a public place?&amp;quot; she said to me the other day. This might have been truly offensive if she didn&amp;#039;t talk to Blythe like she was 8. Sometimes she&amp;#039;ll hug her right in front of me and say, &amp;quot;Oh, my baby. I want to eat you up.&amp;quot; Then she&amp;#039;ll look at me like Cruella De Vil and snarl, &amp;quot;She&amp;#039;s all mine and you can&amp;#039;t have her.&amp;quot;  After almost a week of this, you&amp;#039;d expect that Blythe would come to my defense, but you&amp;#039;d be wrong. I can&amp;#039;t tell if Blythe truly doesn&amp;#039;t notice, or she just chooses not to notice. Her way of dealing with the situation is to play diplomat. Last night, her mom and I got into this debate on whether a color we were choosing to paint the restaurant walls was apricot or orange. I asked Blythe what she thought and she said, &amp;quot;It&amp;#039;s an apricoty orange.&amp;quot; Thaaanks. That really cleared things up.  How long is long enough to allow your girlfriend to mourn the divorce of her parents? How long before you can stop tiptoeing around difficult subjects and get real? For her part, Blythe seems to have passed the sorrow stage of her grieving. She&amp;#039;s now moved on to anger. Deep, unbridled, anger. Yesterday, she had me read an e-mail she sent to her dad that contained more obscenities than a Martin Scorsese movie.  To paraphrase, she hates and despises him and if she should ever see him walking down the street, she will remove his heart from his chest with her bare hands. She is also hiring the nastiest divorce attorney in L.A. to make sure he pays astronomical alimony.  Perhaps mercifully, her anger has not carried over to me as some sort of extension of the male species. The opposite has happened, actually. Something about this whole ordeal has made her feel really attached to me.  &amp;quot;You have been so incredible through all of this,&amp;quot; she told me right before she fell asleep tonight. &amp;quot;Most men would have hightailed it out of here by now, but you&amp;#039;ve stuck by me and my mother, and I will always remember that.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;Hey, it was the least I could do. I&amp;#039;m just sorry for what&amp;#039;s happened to your family.&amp;quot;  &amp;quot;I want you to move in with me. I know it&amp;#039;s sudden and we don&amp;#039;t know each other all that well yet, but I&amp;#039;ve been alive long enough to know when something is right. And this \u2014 us \u2014 is right. You don&amp;#039;t have to tell me now, but I hope you will consider it.&amp;quot; "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/love-sex/mens-perspective/a2415/diary-he-120907/>