Ulghglh!
I mean, Ulghxhlg!
Why did this have to happen? To me? In my house? On a Wednesday?!?
You probably figured out that Brad dumped me, just left like, six minutes ago and took my heart with him. He plucked it from my chest like an overripe nectarine, didn’t even sever the ventricles which is only common courtesy do you know what I’m talking about?
What did I do so bad? Love him so good? Take him so seriously? Okay, so I sent him like, ten thousand texts a day and I made him pancakes on Saturday morning. Is that my crime? Pancake crime? Blame it on Aunt Jemima and scotch tape my heart back together!
I remember one night, in bed, right after we made love, and Brad turned to me and started crying, sobbing like a baby on dog food, and he told me that he loved me more than anything, that no one had ever treated him so good, not even his Mother. He made me promise that I would never ever tell anyone about it. Well I guess promises are made to be broken, Bradley, because now it’s on the internet and everybody knows.
I feel so naked and stupid and miserable and raw. Maybe I should put some clothes on. How can you dump a naked girl? On a Wednesday, no less? Okay, so maybe I asked him to say I love you too much. Is that so impossible, like four or five times a day, to take me by the hand and look me in the eye and tell me that he loves me? ‘Oh, not now baby, I got baseball on DVR.’ Will somebody please explain to me what baseball has to do with the deepest emotions of the human soul? And don’t say sacrifice bunt because I’m really vulnerable right now.
I knew things were getting rocky- that’s why I bought us the cat! I wanted to give it an adorable name but Brad insisted on ‘Governor Kitten.’ That’s so stupid because it’s not gonna be a kitten forever and what cat goes into politics anymore? I told Brad that Governor could be a practice for us, you know like for when we pledged our souls to one another for eternity and the babies started happening and we had to be responsible for the babies? Do you know what Brad did? He stopped feeding the cat and left rat poison around the house. There’s nothing gubernatorial about driving a dead cat to the vet in a Gap bag, which is what I had to do in case you couldn’t figure it out.
Brad was my ultimate everything. This stings like a bee sting from a bumblebee’s stinger. We had tickets for the Simon & Garfunkel show next month but now Brad will probably bring his brother or that girl who hangs out at the IHOP. Pretty ironic for a guy who always told me ‘Enough with the pancakes.’ I should make a short stack and leave it on his doorstep. And then ring the doorbell. He’ll realize he never had it so pancake good in his life.
I’ve tried to stop the tears but they’re flowing like a discount carwash and I’m pretty dehydrated at this point. I just don’t understand. I asked Brad for a reason and all he could say was, ‘We’ve lost the goodness.’ I didn't lose it, I’ve just been saving it for the wonderful times that were getting harder and harder to come by. All of a sudden the Food Network was no good for him anymore and he started watching TBS behind my back. I only watched those cooking shows so we could learn how to make casserole together. Love casserole.
I know I’m being irrational, but my life is on fire in a room full of microwaves and I feel like my hair is going to fall out the inside of my head. I’m never gonna love again, and this time I mean it. I’m a shell now, or worse, like a turtle without a shell, who doesn’t have his shell anymore because some bearded guy cracked it with a putting wedge. I’m going to kill myself or eat an entire box of Oreos, whichever comes first. And Brad, wherever you go, I hope you wind up with a vicious woman who surprises you with pancakes.
Every Wednesday.
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