You knew it was bound to happen. You’ve been broken up for months now. People move on. They find other people. They don’t pine away for each other forever. You’ve both accepted that you were not right for each other for one reason or another. And, yet, nothing NOTHING can prepare you for that initial punch in the gut. That, oh FUCK moment, of seeing him and seeing her, reminding yourself that no he does NOT have a sister and even if he does, those are some incestuous lips they have there. Your eyes get wide, your saliva stops producing, and your body is completely still, save for the plummeting of your insides into the floor beneath you.
You immediately try to be cool. Right, tell her your name. Hug her – no, don’t hug her, just shake her hand. Or maybe stand here. Right, stand here is the best option. Should you smile? Yes, of course, you’re a human being with a soul, aren’t you? Are you smiling or is that more like a grimace? Do you look at him – NO, DO NOT LOOK AT HIM. Smile, keep smiling. “Hi, I’m….”
“This is Sam, Sam this is….” Woah, wait the fuck up. Don’t you dare call me Sam. My name is Samantha. And who the fuck are you to make the introductions? I’m a goddamn adult, aren’t I? I can form my own words, right? Who is this chick anyway? What is she – like 4’11 and 50 pounds soaking wet? I could toss her over a bridge if I wanted to. Ugh – what is she wearing? Do her sandals really have fringe on them? I bet she’s stupid and takes really long in the morning to get ready. And who the fuck is he to call me Sam. He knows I hate that. I hate Sam. My name is Samantha. Hear me roar, bitch.
She’s so skinny and her clothes are really pretty and her hair is so shiny and I wish I knew how to do makeup like that and I bet she eats salads and does yoga and like saves kitties from trees and works for some non-profit where she saves lives and I bet they are super happy and she’s so super light, I bet he can like pick her up and be romantic with her and I bet she giggles, girls like that giggle a lot, and I bet she can wear heels and not be taller than him and of course they are perfect for each other and I have gas, when did I get gas? Of course I have gas because I ate a lot and I’m bloated and feel gross and why didn’t I put on a little extra makeup? Why don’t I ever try to be pretty? I bet she has her nails done. I still have polish on my nails from over a month ago. I bet she doesn’t do things like clean out her ears with Q-tips and I bet she never gets gassy or bloaty because she’s so small and petite and OH GOD ARE THEY HOLDING HANDS?
5. Mind-Numbing Depression
I am going to die alone.
I don’t care. I hope they’re happy together. No, really. It’s okay. I will be fine. I mean, it’s not like I thought we would end up together anyway. They are a much better fit than we were. No, really. I am fine!
7. I forget….. Fuck those two.