Sadly, this is not satirical. These literally all happened.
The Milk Move
I know it’s a bad idea, but I can’t stop myself from sending it. I look at my phone screen, I see the message typed out, and I press my finger on the blue “send” button. And I watch my screen in horror as, “Hey! Haven’t seen you in a while, wondered if you wanted to, idk, grab some 2% some time?” sends to my ex boyfriend, one I haven’t seen in months. In fact, the last time we spoke, I cried and asked that he never contact me again.
Panic seeps through my body. What if he thinks I’m weird? I know I have to fix it, but how? Think, Jessica, think.
I decide on sending, “Gee, 2%, where did the other 98% go? Haha, have a great night. I was just joshing! Please don’t respond.” I wipe the sweat from my dripping palms and sit back, pleased with how I managed to save my dignity.
Sweaty Bumble Bee
He dumped me at my sister’s wedding, and my first interaction with him afterward was a month later, when I called him in tears to explain my frustrations.
The issue: I cried too hard for coherent conversation, and this poor boy just listened to my sobbing for 20 minutes straight.
Once again, I realize that my honor is dwindling, so I save myself. I hang up the phone, purchase a “sexy” bumble bee costume, and invite him to my college improv Halloween performance.
The night before my performance, I started to worry. What if I don’t look pretty enough? What if he thinks I’m weird? (That’s a common fear for me.)
I take out a pair of scissors and cut bangs straight across my forehead.
At my improv show, I start to sweat. The beads sticking the bangs to my forehead under an antenna bonnet. And after the show, he approaches me and the only thing I can think to say is, “Bet you regret dumping me now.” Then, like the badass I am, I turn, walk away, and cry in the Pearson bathroom.
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Big L
This time, it’s all my fault. I dump him, but he wants “closure.” So we go stargazing on a February night outside on a random soccer field in Indiana.
This was probably the first mistake. I should’ve met him at a Target or something.
Looking up at the sky, he expresses his confusion about our breakup, and I feel something – a twinge of regret. So I say, “I love you,” which I had never said before … to anyone.
Well, shoot. How the heck do you follow that? I start sweating (this is also a common theme with me) and immediately regret my words. He turns to me, says, “I love you, too.” and leans in. Per usual, I think faster than Usain Bolt runs, and save the moment by adding a simple, “platonically”.
Thank God we drove separately.
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