Reflections of a Single Man

“Tistheseasontistheseasontistheseaon,” I whispered to myself knowing that with each chant the season was getting shitter. I woke up early this morning to get ready for work and checked my “morning papers” which just so happens to be Facebook and Twitter. And there, after three scrolls down (I checked it on my phone this morning which was my first mistake), I saw something that took my breath away.

Remember the guy I went out on a date with? Guess who just got into a relationship? That’s right. I stared at it for just a few seconds, thinking it was a dream, a horrible nightmare but there it was… staring back at me. His boyfriend wrapped in a scarf and I have since dubbed him that “scarf wearing cunt.”

I just wanted to know a few things. Why couldn’t he tell me that it didn’t work out? Why couldn’t he just send me a text instead of ignoring me and me, feeling like Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed waiting for Billy Loomis. Was it something I did? Was it because I didn’t kiss him goodnight? Maybe I didn’t hold his hand hard enough. Maybe he wanted something more… and I never caught on to his advances. I wondered how long he talking to this cunt scarf wearing asshole? Was it during our date? Was I, for the briefest of moments, the other guy? A test piece to see which one he liked more? 

But on the flip side I wondered if we would’ve even worked. We came from different backgrounds, had different interests, and had our own lives to life. He had the personality like a limp dick and my personality is all over the place. He liked video games and I liked film. He was twenty-three; I was nineteen.

I went to work with this laying heavy on my mind. I decided, after a few rants to GBF and my work partner, Miss Chanel, that I was going to be the bigger person, the ADULT, and move on. I had a fabulous day with this asshole, saw a fabulous movie and went out of my comfort zone to meet him. I came. I conquered.

I deleted him from my phone and my memory and unfriended him Facebook. This is the last mention of him from here on. I hope he’s happy with that polka dotted, scarf wearing cunt rainbow.

And breathe. Tis the season. Tis the season. Tis the season.