It’s been two months since Wendell and I broke up, and I’m honestly pretty over it. While leaving me a week before our wedding seemed cruel at the time, I now realize that it was all for the best. I don’t hate him for putting me in that position, since I’ve grown so much as a person since then and I wouldn’t trade what I learned for anything. However, I’m totally okay with it if you think that was a horrible thing to do and think he’s a piece-of-shit manchild who’ll almost definitely die alone. It’s okay if you say that. Really.
Sure, he and I spent a lot of time and money planning what would have been the greatest wedding Northern Minnesota’s ever seen, and when he called it off 48 hours before the event, nearly all of my savings was lost. And sure, he humiliated me publicly in front of everyone I knew, and broke my heart into a billion tiny pieces. But if I’m being honest, he did me a favor by ending things before we walked down the aisle. After all, breakups are hard, but they’re easier than a divorce. But if you guys, my dearest lady friends, are still upset because his cowardly last-minute disappearance put me around $50,000 in debt, I can understand if you’d think he was a selfish, scabies-encrusted dickfart.
When he left, he took our dogs with him, which initially upset me. I raised those boys from puppies, and to lose them removed my one remaining source of unconditional love at the time I needed it most. But now I realize it was a good thing that they were gone, because it allowed me to focus on my own needs without any distractions. If you’re mad at him for stealing my dog babies away from me, I would understand. I’d be upset too if I saw someone treat one of my friends with cruelty that is rarely seen in polite society.
I’m not even mad that he forced me to be the one to move out of our shared house. It’ll be nice, living in a place that doesn’t hold memories of our shared life. That’s the sort of forward thinking I need to do right now. Still, he did dump all my stuff in the street and forced me to live with my mother, and I wouldn’t blame you if that made you think he was a bad person who should be isolated in some sort of holding cell for the criminally insane. I’d think that, too, if I were you and not me. But I am me, a person who’s moved on. And you are you, a person who still needs to get out their feelings on this subject. So don’t stop talking about how you hate him.
Heck, I’m not even mad that he moved on so fast. Life is short, and if he and my ex-roommate Laura fell in love, they couldn’t help it. You might be outraged, however, that he ran off with my best friend right after publicly destroying my life. I would understand that. You might egg his car, or call in complaints to his place of work until they fired him, or even make lewd chalk drawings on the sidewalk in front of his parents’ house (as they were the ones responsible for raising that monster) and I wouldn’t blame you for that. Really. I don’t expect you guys to be as level-headed as I am. In fact, please don’t become as level-headed as I am. Hearing your albeit hilarious stories about his parents desperately hosing down a giant dick drawing is a reminder of how much I am over the whole situation.
It’s my job to be the bigger person—and his too, I guess, based on what you guys say about his latest Facebook pictures. Just because I chose the high road doesn’t mean you guys can’t totally tell me that he looks like he’s gained 40 pounds. Really. Don’t let my personal growth keep you from regaling me with negative Wendell-related stories, like how bloated he looks in his engagement photo with Laura. That’s petty. I’m totally past petty things.
But please, don’t stop saying those petty things. You know, for your own comfort. I want you guys to be comfortable around me. So go on, keep talking about how much you hate my ex. Trust me: I’m cool with it.