Let’s Be Honest Here, Amicable Splits Are Only For People Who Can Act Their Age!

by SJP

Well, of course I was upset to get dumped.  Are you kidding me? I was livid!  I mean, talk about a terrible thing to do somebody.  Especially me; who’s always so genuinely nice.  I guess it’s really true what they say; bad things happen to good people!  But it wasn’t just bad, it was awful!  And he didn’t just “break up” with me either.  Oh no!  He woke me up in the middle of the night to dump me. The middle of the night, I tell you.  Nudged my shoulder as I was sleeping like an angel (in my silk pajamas) to tell me goodbye!  Can you believe him?  I mean, how rude to choose that hour knowing full well I’m too tired and disoriented to make a scene!  

Yes, a scene.  You know, like an uproar.  Pandemonium.  Chaos, if you will.  It’s truly a waste of a breakup if there’s no uncomfortable commotion. 

There was little to no disorder since The Colombian was being quite selfish when hedecided to dump me at 1am instead of taking me to a farewell dinner, where there I could have at least thrown a glass of wine at his face.  I think it’s important to make some sort of statement like that.  If he’s allowed to break up with me without first asking my permission, I don’t see why I shouldn’t get a drink to the face.  I have always wanted to do that!  I can see myself happily buttering a French baguette when he delivers the bad news at a quaint café on a Friday night.  I’ll be very calm but decisive in my movements when I carefully set the bread down, smile politely and take one last sip of my wine before it violently splashes in his face. Can you imagine the poor guy dripping Pinot Noir from his nose while I storm out and everybody stares dumbfounded?  He will never know what hit him; literally!  Ha!  Now that is how you handle a breakup! 

But, sigh, nothing like that happened the other night.  I was so tired, I mean it was one o’clock in the morning; I didn’t even bother to make myself cry because it was too dark to see any mascara streaking down my face.  My voice was too hoarse to scream obscenities and wake the neighbors so I just sat there silent with my arms crossed in dismay, like a boring little dumped girl. What kind of split doesn’t involve running makeup or curse filled sobs? A boring one, that’s what! 

How did he get away with dumping me and avoiding a little mayhem before the final exit? It makes me so angry I could just pull my hair out if it weren’t so beautiful and well maintained.  I hope he tries to call me.  I hope he says he’s sorry and wants to see me.  I dare him. Because if he does, and surely he will, I happen to know of a nice little café down the street where they carry a delicious bottle of wine that is perfect for reconciling (or lack thereof)…

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