Fabulous

"Then I guess it's done."

This is the sentence that ended my last relationship. And, actually, I use the term "relationship" loosely – according to him we were "having fun." I had to hold his hand through a twenty minute conversation, practically dictating a breakup I didn’t want. But really, it's all okay because he said the oh-so-dreaded, fully loaded, three-square-meal sentence, "you're such a great girl…"

But now I'm making him look like an asshole…

Eh hem…

Hmm…

Uggggppphh…

Okay, he's not an asshole. But I think it was definitely okay to allow everyone a considerable amount of time to think that he is.

But you see, this is the problem. He was wonderful. Otherwise I wouldn't be so disrupted by the sudden end to what I thought was such a great thing. And don't think I'm that girl who is completely blind to the warning signs. The red flags. There were none. Until this week, the only flag I had seen was the star spangled banner.

Here are some conversation bits for your reading pleasure:

Me: "I just feel like stuff is off. I feel weird. Do you feel weird?"

Him: "I don’t know. I mean, I'm fine." Can you pick the trigger word in this sentence?

Him: "I'm probably making you feel weird. I mean, I thought we were having fun. You're such a great girl and you’re the first person in a long time that I have felt like I can be myself with. I just don't know."

Me: "I don’t ever want to have to convince someone that they should be with me. That's not what I want for myself. It's hard for me to understand how, after two months, you still don't know. I mean, if you don’t know, isn't that your answer? Don't try to convince yourself that you want to do this if you don't."

Him: "I just don't know. I don't know"

Me: "Well guy, maybe usually means no. Why don't you take the weekend to think about it and then get back to me on Monday."

Him: "No. That would be weird"

Me: "No. What's weird is pretending like everything is normal when it isn't. I don’t want to see you all weekend, hang out, hook up, sleep in your bed pretending like this conversation didn't happen. Pretending like you know how you feel."

Me: "You can do it now or you can wait to do it on Monday. But I don't want this, so I'm not going to do this for you. You have to do it."

Him: "Then I guess it's done."

Me: "What?" I really didn’t hear what he said. I wasn't in denial or angry or anything. I just couldn't hear.

Him: "It's done."

Then I said okay, and I told him I understood. I said it had been fun and I thanked him for all the dinners (naturally, considering what a large part food plays in my life and, consequently, our "fun" relationship). Then I told him I'd see him when I saw him. And there you have it.



The fear of being the "we need to talk" girl is what held me out those three days prior to the conversation. I cringe at the thought of being the one that needs to "determine the relationship." Fortunately, I have justified in my own head the difference between requesting a DTR and responding to a blatant act of prolonging the inevitable. Why should I hang on to something for two more days, weeks, or months if we can deal with it now? Just rip it off. Quick. Less painful.

Two months. I guess that's not long enough to know whether or not something will last. But I was naïve enough to think that it would. I guess it was just a feeling. I loved being with him, sitting next to him. I loved going to his house and spending the weekends out of the city. He was great. Is great. He's just not mine anymore.

But ultimately, it wasn't there for him. And that's okay. It's like shoes. I find a fabulous pair of Enzo Angiolini pumps, put a pair on my feet, and it's just not right. They're tall, dark, and handsome – not too short, not too tight. They're beautiful. But they're not quite right. The fit just isn't there.



I'm dreading the tilted-head, furrowed eyebrows, and frowning mouth of all those people that are going to ask me, "So, how are you?" I mostly dread it because I know my reaction all depends on the time of day. In the morning, ask me all you want. I'll smile my genuine smile and say, "You know? I'm okay. It was for the best." But ask me at 3:00 in the afternoon, after I've been thinking about it all day, and I might blurt out "fine" and high-tale it back to my doorless cubical. Sometimes I stretch out my filing cabinets on either side of my doorway and pretend like I've closed the gate to my castle.

There are times when I shake my head back and forth, wondering: WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, GUY? And then there are times when I consciously decide to keep my forehead, the defeated house of my constantly concerned brain, from dropping to the desk and melting into the wood.

But I am fabulous. And I have a fabulous job, live in a fabulous studio, and I have quite a fabulous shoe collection. Most importantly, I have fabulous friends who are part of my fabulous family. I guess I'm prone twenty-two fabulous things, and this "thing" I had with this guy, it may have been fabulous too.



I think I'll end with a few things that made me smile this week:

1. My trainer saying "make your knees touch your elbows" and genuinely meaning it (we were doing squats).

2. A $213 Tax Return.

3. Oscar, the French bull dog that lives in my building. He is quite famous actually, and is completely in love with me.

4. Carolyn's new blog (it's quite good – better than this shit you're reading right now...)