“People don’t date anymore. They talk, catch feelings, sleep together and find themselves in situashionships.” ~ Nigel @Nigael_
If you thought the invention of zombies was the craziest thing (and I still think it is), think again. Stranger things have happened. AIDS is no longer the No. 1 immuno-deficiency disease… Feelings are. Inappropriate feelings for inappropriate people. It’s twisted and unhealthy- The junk food of relationships. And when a situationship ends, we seem to have a GMO way of dealing.
You know that saying: Trust your gut? Well, you decided that the alimentary canal was just a smelly, extra long passage of your food, laden with enzymes. So you didn’t listen to it. Even though as high order thinking goes, you saw the end at the beginning.
You knew that you and Alex would never work out. But you ignored that feeling, telling yourself that you were talking a leap of faith, despite the fact that your fat ass can barely hop. He only wanted to meet in bars, at night. Your first kiss was in the toilet corridor as you watched your friend throw up all the tequilas Alex had bought her trying to impress you.
But he just held the door for me… And he loves Breaking Bad too… Surely, we are two peas in a pod. Oh, he’s sooooo sweet!
See? Your denial started even before you pictured him naked.
You’re now getting tired of hearing him say about how he PLANS to take you for dinner somewhere nice. Of how he can’t wait to watch a sunset with you…. Infact, he adds, I know just the right spot. The view is breathtaking. I know you will fall in love. The vampire shin digs in dinghy, dark bars where you make out like teenagers are beginning to piss you off, and you want him to stop planning, and ACTUALLY take you out on a real date.
Nyet. Intact, he does not even call… Whatsapp. Conversations that start after 11.30 and end at 2 am. He is an evening person, and you are a morning person.
The anger starts slow… You pout and go monosyllabic on Whatsapp. Then slowly, but steady, the anger flows through your fingers. And the wordsmith, or lack thereof, in you comes out. The only punctuation in your messages is the F word. And the D word. And the C word.
You are angry at him for consuming your thoughts. You’re mad because the reality is that he is not somewhere, remorseful and thinking of ways to win back your affection.
Then you realise, that you are infact, angry at yourself. After all, YOU ignored your gut, YOU saw this coming, YOU decided to ignore it.
Too much too soon? Pet names after the second time you bump into each other at the supermarket? Exchanging shamballas? Meeting all his brothers on the second drink up? Puh-leaze! Dames be like: HOW COULD I BE OH SO STUPID???
Then you get stupid-er… You flirt with his brother (who happened to be at the counter as you were ordering the bar man to “keep em coming”), and hopefully have enough sense not to bang him, but instead get it on with that guy that you turned down sometime back because You met someone. Buuuurn!
Oi! Low self esteem galore. Not too proud to beg. Remember when Meredith Grey was ‘the other woman’ and as if she was not already at the bortom of the pit latrine, she went all: PICK ME. CHOOSE ME. LOVE ME.
I can change and become an evening person. Yes, we can be friends. And maybe someday, grow to be lovers… Who knows? I will google on better farming methods so I can give you great farming tips. And oh yes, I can looooove soccer. And Octopizzo.
Nope. It didn’t work. Even you getting painful acrylic toe nails for him (foot fetishism is real yo!) made no difference. Just like an actual relationship break-up, at this point you realize that it really was never going to work. No matter how many secret ingredients you put in your pork marinade, it’s never gonna be yummy enough for him to come back and warm your bed.
And so you hit the cheese. And hit it hard. The bad kind of cheese. And suddenly you have no use for shea butter… Who needs supple skin and fab hair anyway. Your sunglasses are no longer fashionable, but now functional: to hide your eyebags and your bloodshot eyes. Your fake hair gets split ends, and your fake toe nails chip.
Now you really are Meredith Grey in the earlier seasons of the series. You read and re-read your whole situation via Whatsapp. You dig out your self help books from the box labelled: For Wusses. All them indie rock bands seem to be speaking to you. And possibly Taylor Swift too. You poor thing.
Your eyebrows are overgrown. One more week, and they would have synchronised into one line.
It’s about time. Your friends are sick of you hijacking all the conversations and making them about Tom. Plus your leave days are over….. You gotta get back to work.
You delete all them waxing romantic messages, all the instagram photos you had uploaded (you would be surprised how many you had in just the two weeks you had your heavenly relationship), unfriend him on Facebook, and thank God you had the sense not to follow him on twitter.
You delete his contact…. You already have enough friends, you don’t need him to be one too. You don’t understand that ‘friends, then lovers’ school of thought, and thank God you don’t have to. You thank God that you get to wake up at the butt crack of dawn and get your mojo on because you love mornings. You hate farming, and you think football is a dumb game, and you have no apologies for having such a stupid opinion. And you cannot stand Octopizzo. And it’s OK to say that out loud.
And when Mr. Bedroom Bully calls you at 01. 44 on Friday night to ask about that awesome recipe for a barbecue party he’s throwing next week, and can you come? You take a deep breath and tell him to follow Chef Adam Perry Lang on twitter, the king of the barbecue, for tips on how to rock that roast.
Also no, you are not available for the party next week… you will be busy washing your hair.