Helmut Lang, Lyra Folded Drape Top in Dusty Sapphire, $193, Forward by Elyse Walker.
Several months ago I went through a rather unconventional “break-up.” That is if you consider ceasing any and all contact, without so much as a warning, to be within the working definition of a “break-up.”
This Pisces was a compulsive texter, leave him shy of a response for more than twenty minutes and I quickly had him backtracking. “I didn’t sniff your shirt in a creepy way… I just saw that you had left it here and it smells like you…” If I responded indifferently, something was terribly amis. He once FaceTimed me amid his Saturday evening festivities because I told him I’d talk to him in the morning. “Baba why you mad?!” Oh yes, within a week of dating I had been blessed with a pet-name. Babalah, Baba, or Ba for short. I hope you too find it quite shocking then, that after two months of courtship, this attention-starved lovah-man pulled a real Houdini.
After a week on the back of the milk carton of my mind, he appeared like a welcome glass of water after a heavy night of drinking. And by glass of water, I mean the rather unpleasant experience of realizing you are actually drinking a glass of warm Vodka. His text read, “I can’t talk right now. I have WAY too much going on and I’ll explain everything when I can.” I had just finished New Moon, the second installment in the Twilight book series. If the Volturi were coming after me and he was merely trying to protect me, he had to know I wouldn’t let him shoulder this burden alone! “He is SO in rehab!” concluded a dear friend and former pill-popper.
But when he appeared in my Facebook Newsfeed but a week later I knew it was not so. That Abercrombie & Fitch wearin’ son-of-a-bitch didn’t even give me the dignity of a, “Thanks, but no thanks.” And I used to think there was nothing more humiliating than a “Slow Fade!” If it wasn’t for our INTENSE Facebook relationship, cemented by witty wall posts and photos worthy of a fireplace mantle, it would be as if he had never existed! How very Edward Cullen of him…
Certainly I’m not fated to be alone forever! God must have a reason for making me THIS good-looking! Such is why the idea of a “Dating Pre-nup” required my actual consideration. “It should be a rule that at the beginning of every dating interaction, you must declare whether you prefer a clear or faded breakup… A ‘Dating Pre-nup,’ established before the first date,” writes Maureen O’Conner in an article for The Cut. But also, who gets custody of shared friends? Can I stay friends with your friend’s girlfriends? Nudie-pic deletion is a must if Sexters are ever to rest easy! May I keep the clothes I’ve absorbed into my wardrobe? Will have “ex-sex” in exchange for well-worn flannel?
Romance is masked in the illusion of optimism, and establishing “rules” is a total dream-killer. Yet the odds that any one date will turn into a sweeping love story are quite low. We arrive at first dates in a state of hope, and so does talking about the possibility of failure destroy that hope? Or could a “Dating Pre-nup” become a mechanism for improving social rituals and communication?
However brief my courtship might have been with what I suspect is my very last Pisces, if the worst thing I ever did to him was bring over two slices of Pizza and hefty helping of Cheesecake when I knew he was trying to eat healthy, I, at the very least deserve some sort of goodbye! But what I deserve, and what I want are two different things entirely. As I stand before my closet with that naked hanger staring me square in the eye, I know that all I really want is… my fucking shirt back.