Here's your place to come talk about sex and love whenever you feel like it.
There are two types of people in the world. They are not divided, as the immortal Ms. Britney Spears would have us believe, into those who entertain and observe.
Rather, there are dumpers and there are dumpees. There are also people who don’t mind eating the end slices on a loaf of bread and those who freak the fuck out if you even suggest it. (I’m not sure if there’s overlap. Maybe I’ll do a street poll and present you all with a Venn diagram of what I’ve discovered at a later date. But probably not. Because I hate talking to people most of all the things.)
In the dating world, I am a dumpee. To be fair, the sad-puppy-in-the-rain-holding-a-spoiled-cake- while-crying image that this conjures isn’t entirely accurate. Sure, I have had my fair share of heartbreak, but I think I’ve also dated less than the average bear.
If life is a middle school dance, I tend to stay on the outskirts of the gym, cracking wise and only taking to the dance floor for a rollicking nerdy rendition of "Cotton-Eyed Joe." And for that you are welcome.
I mention this, because I think it’s important that I assure you that I am not a massive saddo lounging around my apartment belting out "Unbreak My Heart" for however long it takes me to con another dude into my drawers for sure-to-be finite amount of time. Have I ever dumped someone? No. But I’m also not sporting permanent running mascara and clutching the draft of my as-of-yet-incomplete Manifesto, WHY WON’T YOU LET ME LOVE YOU: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL DIRGE.
I don’t buy into the idea that a truly successful relationship is only made such when one party loves the other a little bit more than they are loved in return. This is because I was raised by my grossly in-love parents who are always touching each others bottoms and comparing each other to Julian Sands and Glenda Jackson (#EnglishNerds) and because of my less publicly-gross best friends who married each other, their high school sweethearts, and are in no way annoying about it.
I guess I kind of can’t believe that one person loving more than the other is a real thing, or I’d be doomed to face the prospect that I have yet to date one person as crazy about me as I am about that. And let’s be real, my shit is fly, and has been worshipped by several smitten fellows.
I mean, they have not all been winners (exhibit the guy who dumped me because in the long term he wanted to be with someone who liked “being outside” - THERE ARE BUGS OUTSIDE, MAN) but they all wound up being the ones who pointed out it was time to go our separate ways.
It’s because I am a stubborn as a lion with a thorn in its paw. I would rather fart about the jungle roaring with rage and limping than actually deal with my shit. Sometimes it takes a dumb mouse who can use words and say “Dude. Let me remove that,” for me to make any real changes. Let us now pause to analyze that I just inadvertently called every guy I’ve dated a dumb mouse while simultaneously implying that I am King of the Jungle. Everybody with me? Cool. Let’s move on.
When I was younger, the breakups happened because of fear and inexperience. Did I get a lump in my throat when a young gentleman politely passed me a note saying that our time had run its course and he would rather play four-square with another young lady? Absolutely. But I also felt a tremendous sense of relief that he pulled the lever on something that had begun to make me feel queasy and unhappy.
As an adult lady, I think my role of dumpee is proof of my optimism. I think it's important to tell folks this, because there's this misconception that can happen when a lady doesn't dump a guy, and it's that she's scared nothing better will come along and zomgmarriagebabies. But I really don't think, in my case, that's it.
I don’t like to give up on things, especially not people. That said, I can’t imagine it’s much fun to date someone who has stopped rubbing up on your parts and has begun clinically watching you from day to day in the same detached but curious way they watch shows like "The Killing" or "Hannibal." It’s hard once something or someone’s been in your life for a while to let them go. Once I’ve got a handle on someone’s routine, not being a part of that routine is a tough pill to swallow.
The fact that I think this way makes me think that the person-loving-another-person-more thing is in true, but only in opposition. A relationship can’t work unless both people are so invested in each other, and in the shared story that they are creating that they want to fight for that story.
Dispassionately letting things run their course until the other person has to cut loose the ties? It’s proof that I’ve never been in a relationship that ever had going power from the start. That makes me feel better about being the perma-dumpee. I’ve been dumped so that I can find someone right for me. It’s either that or my instance on wearing leather pants at all times.
Are you a dumper or a dumpee? A little of both? What’s the worst way you’ve ever been dumped or dumped someone? ANY TEXT RELATIONSHIP ENDERS OUT THERE? Sharing is caring in the comments, mi amors.