Alright so I'm going to make this part short and sweet so as not to incriminate the dumper. He's not an asshole, he didn't cheat on me, he didn't text me a break up! So I just want to keep his name untarnished.
So I'll set the scene a little bit. The day that "all the evil started" (I will literally pay $100 to anyone who gets that reference) happened to be the day he was moving out of his apartment.
I walk into the bare apartment and sit on the hardwood floor. Halfway through the dumping I actually lost blood circulation to my legs and had to stand up. I'm sure that was a really cute look.
I was wearing jorts, a summer staple of course, a sports bra and a black tank top….it was in the middle of a heat wave. Not the ideal outfit to be broken up with in, but whatever…I could have dealt with the outfit. But the real problem was the make up. Of course I wasn't expecting to be DUMPED that day, so I didn't bother to wear my waterproof mascara. Bad decision.
I left the apartment with a roll of toilet paper in one hand, phone in the other, mascara ALL over my face (I don't think there was any left on my eyelashes), sunglasses on and with a limp from the loss of blood....I was a sight.
I'm screaming crying walking down Spruce Street not caring at all who's watching or judging me. I did make a mental note to remember the comedy of the situation.
And that was the beginning of what promises to be a long journey.
No comments:
Post a Comment