Help! My Boyfriend Is Still Eating Legos

Dear Auntie Jacko,

Hi! It’s me again. Well, there’s no easy way to say this, but The Boyfriend is still at it. 

I tried the advice you gave me last month. I really did. I used the spray bottle, but he just became damp. I made him write lines, but he tried to eat the graphite, too. I even tried soaking the Legos in pepper juice, but his urine just became slightly more acidic. 

I must say, though, at least The Boyfriend has been more honest with me recently. He no longer disappears for inordinate amounts of time. Instead, he’s out in the open and now makes eye contact with me as he does his deeds, but this has been complicating my life in unexpected ways.

For example, last Tuesday, I walked into the apartment, and I found him sitting on the hardwood, engulfed in his own hill of Legos, chewing on his dirty little vices. 

I asked him what he was eating and he told me it was “nuf’n,” but I knew it wasn’t “nuf’n,” so I told him to spit it out. He shook his head, so I nodded my head, and he shook his head again, so I said “don’t make me come over there,” and he whimpered, unmoving, so I faked disinterest and then lunged at the monster of a man I once knew, but he shrieked and swallowed the whole damn mouthful! 

He left me no choice. I did what any woman in my position would do—I fished out my pocket tweezers, pried open his jaw, and started searching. One by one, the little bricks came back up. Red, blue, cheetah print, he has no preference. 

After I pulled out a slimy truck tire, I noticed a faint whistling from his left nostril. The Boyfriend must have heard it, too, because he sharply exhaled, shooting me with his plastic projectile.

I saw it before I felt it; yellow, sunglasses, and a mocking smirk before the gooey, cold ball stuck to my cheek. 

We stared at each other in silence. I yanked off the Legoman head. It was a patrolman. Figures.

I smiled, “Is there anything you’d like to say for yourself, poopsie bear?”

“I—I—I—”

I smiled. It was saccharine. Fatal.  “Take your time.”

He looked so crestfallen. Pathetic. “It was the perfect fit.”

I couldn’t hide my disgust anymore.

“You’re just like your father.”
“OH YEAH? WELL, YOU’RE JUST LIKE SHANNON!”

We both gasped. 

“Your old babysitter??”

“I mean—you’re both really attractive women, and—”

I gasped again.

“No, no, no, no, no! That’s not what I meant! It’s just—I mean—you have better legs than her. Wait, I didn’t mean that! No! Don’t go! Can I at least have Sergeant Jones back?”

And I just—well—I just don’t know where to go from here. I can hear his sobs from outside our bedroom door, but I think I want to let him weep in the pool of his own sins. I know I should try to be the bigger person, but I keep comparing myself to Shannon. I’ll take any advice. I’m desperate at this point. 

Warm Regards, 
Still Disappointed

---

Dear Still Disappointed,

I am so sorry to hear that my earlier suggestions didn’t work, the spray bottle especially. It is a practice in commitment that must come from both parties. I would inspect not only The Boyfriend’s commitment to changing, but also your commitment to changing him. Maybe he likes to eat Legos, and maybe you like that he likes to eat Legos because it is the one thing in the Universe that the two of you still share.

My point is, all-consuming problems require all-consuming solutions. 

Having read your letter for the fourth time now, I must ask, have either one of you ever done mindfulness exercises? This could perhaps relieve some stress on your part and anxiety on his. Get an adult coloring book and see where your crayons take you!

In response to your last paragraph: a little bit of competition is healthy in any relationship. It is okay to want to be more attractive to him than his old babysitter, but remember that she didn’t choose for him to have unresolved feelings for her, and good feminists build each other up, not tear each other down. 

I hope my second round of advice helps you.

Sincerely,
Auntie Jacko

– VQ ’24