Surprisingly, though I had a pretty extensive dating history by the time I'd reached college, I'd only broken up with one guy. I didn't do it very well, either, because I found out only about a year ago that he thinks he broke up with me (whether that was due to my poor break-up skills or his ego-protecting memory modification, the world will never know.)
It really could have been my break up skills, though. See, I am terrified of hurting someone's feelings. And no matter how you slice it, when you break up with someone, you will hurt their feelings. So I was generally content to let things fall apart on their own. Until...
I met Derek. Derek's not actually his real name, but since I've never dated a Derek, we'll just stick with that. I met him at my favorite college haunt, the low concrete wall outside the coffee kiosk. We exchanged numbers and went on a double date with some friends of mine. He was a sweet guy. Until, we moved from awkward hugs to kissing. And then I discovered Derek's downfall.
He was a wet kisser. A very, very, very wet kisser. The act of kissing, is, understandably, a slightly moist activity. But this was like getting caught in an Indo-tropical monsoon.
I knew he had to have other qualities. But, since all he wanted to do was kiss me, I never found out, since both our mouths were unavailable for conversation.
Finally, after two weeks of meeting him, hoping today he would feel chatty instead of smoochy, and two weeks of running to the bathroom afterward to blot my face off with handfuls of paper towels, I decided it had to end. The non-confrontational panic attack began, and, in the end, this is something like what I came up with:
"Dereklistenyou'reagreatguyandIreallylikeyoubutIdon'tfeelourrelationshipisgoinganywhereandIthinkweshouldbefreetoexploreouroptionsandI'mreallysorryyou'reagreatguybutIcan'tdothisanymore."
All one breath, and I turned tail and ran out of his room.
Technically speaking, I've been on both ends of worse breakups, breakups that ended eight-month relationships, cross-continental breakups, epically sad breakups. But when I look back--this is the only one that really makes me shudder. The poor guy never saw it coming. He must have thought things were going so well, is looking forward to another pleasant makeout session, and then here comes the girl, who babbles at him and runs away.
All I can say is, thank God I'm married, because I suck at dating.
It really could have been my break up skills, though. See, I am terrified of hurting someone's feelings. And no matter how you slice it, when you break up with someone, you will hurt their feelings. So I was generally content to let things fall apart on their own. Until...
I met Derek. Derek's not actually his real name, but since I've never dated a Derek, we'll just stick with that. I met him at my favorite college haunt, the low concrete wall outside the coffee kiosk. We exchanged numbers and went on a double date with some friends of mine. He was a sweet guy. Until, we moved from awkward hugs to kissing. And then I discovered Derek's downfall.
He was a wet kisser. A very, very, very wet kisser. The act of kissing, is, understandably, a slightly moist activity. But this was like getting caught in an Indo-tropical monsoon.
I knew he had to have other qualities. But, since all he wanted to do was kiss me, I never found out, since both our mouths were unavailable for conversation.
Finally, after two weeks of meeting him, hoping today he would feel chatty instead of smoochy, and two weeks of running to the bathroom afterward to blot my face off with handfuls of paper towels, I decided it had to end. The non-confrontational panic attack began, and, in the end, this is something like what I came up with:
"Dereklistenyou'reagreatguyandIreallylikeyoubutIdon'tfeelourrelationshipisgoinganywhereandIthinkweshouldbefreetoexploreouroptionsandI'mreallysorryyou'reagreatguybutIcan'tdothisanymore."
All one breath, and I turned tail and ran out of his room.
Technically speaking, I've been on both ends of worse breakups, breakups that ended eight-month relationships, cross-continental breakups, epically sad breakups. But when I look back--this is the only one that really makes me shudder. The poor guy never saw it coming. He must have thought things were going so well, is looking forward to another pleasant makeout session, and then here comes the girl, who babbles at him and runs away.
All I can say is, thank God I'm married, because I suck at dating.
1 comment:
Hilarious!
Mary
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