Free You Better Not Cry: Stories for Christmas by Augusten Burroughs Page B

the rest of my life.
    Most everybody had made at least one bad, drunken decision in their lives. Called an ex at two in the morning. Or perhaps had a little too much to drink on a second date and wept inconsolably while revealing how simply
damaged
one was, while nonetheless retaining an uncommonly large capacity for love. That kind of thing was, while regrettable, at least comprehensible.
    But waking up with someone generationally inappropriate, like your grandfather’s best buddy?
    Obviously I needed to do my best to forget what Santa and I had shared.
    And to hope he died soon.
    The problem was, my grandfather’s best buddy was more famous than Coca-Cola. And he was eternal.
     

     
    This was really bothering me: I picked up that sad crusty thing in a bar. He didn’t fall from a sleigh in the sky. I wasn’t bound and gagged and brought to him, a gun at my temple.
    I selected him.
    So, was this some appalling repressed fetish? Something, God help me, unleashed after I had a few drinks in me? Had that ubiquitous holiday image somehow woven its way through childhood and into my psycho-sexual development, only to be expressed in early adulthood, under conditions made ideal by the consumption of too much alcohol?
    Somehow,
that
did not seem fixable.
    If one was sexually attracted to Santa, one had departed from mainstream reality. This was no different from turning down dates and staying home weekends because
you were saving yourself for Cap’n Crunch.
    OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD .
     

     
    I decided to execute a small amount of forensic work on my sexual history. I needed to sit down and analyze The Guy List. This was a list I’d started shortly after moving to Manhattan. On it, I’d scribbled the name or some identifying characteristic of every guy I’d ever had sex with.
    I had defined
sex
as:
seeing them naked while they are under the impression there will soon be sex.
Because many times, there was no sex. Sometimes, I got grossed out and left. Other times, I was so drunk I got lost in their bathroom. And then sometimes, they broke the spell by speaking and becoming an actual person, which made any kind of intimacy impossible.
    I would analyze previous sexual partners and see if I could uncover a possible virus of attraction. Retrace my steps to try and identify any behavioral patterns that could explain how I ended up bedding an old guy with a fat suit.
     
    Neil Bookman
The Unfortunate One
Battery Park City Ick
Saab Man
Jukebox Man
Penthouse Nut with Football
Park Avenue Poor Baby
Hell’s Kitchen Actor
Akita Wednesday
Investment Banker Slime
Auggie’s Pizza Boy
Calvin Klein Model
Stairway Man
Chef of the Village
San Francisco Beard
Chicago Door Unlock
Ad Asshole Dude
Barstool Man Chicago
Head Too Small
Camping Dad
Mr. Boston
Pier Guido
Garage Man
Dr. Little Dick
Teacher Man from Brooklyn
Jay Leno Mouth
Ricky Ricardo
Piano Actor (falsetto laugh)
Something Wrong Down There Guy
Traveling Investment Banker
Egyptian Hunk Doc
Pilot (anatomically incorrect)
Breath Deformity
Porkpie Hat East Village Fuckwad
German Music Teacher Guy
Cocaine Guy from NYU
     
    Looking at the list, I was surprised that a phrase like
Breath Deformity
could recall the man so vividly.
    Breath Deformity was actually a real catch of a guy. He had dark hair and he was ruggedly handsome, some sort of durable Mediterranean stock. He owned an optics company so he was loaded. And his apartment was just amazingly cool—the kind of place you see in a magazine and think,
No real person lives there.
    But the breath.
    It wasn’t like you could ever sit him down and tell him he had a problem and should see a dentist. This kind of breath couldn’t be fixed; it was a birthmark. It was an extra finger. It was simply a part of him. What he needed was somebody who had been in a car accident and suffered the loss of their olfactory bulb.
    The Calvin Klein model just fell into my lap; I hadn’t pursued him. For some reason, he’d come after me. It didn’t make