Hello, Barbara. It seems like it’s been forever. You, uh, look good. I mean, not as good as you looked back in the ’80s. You were so beautiful back then, in a tall, awkward sort of way. Okay, maybe “beautiful” is a bit of an overstatement. Let’s just say “not ugly.” Anyhow, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. Just wanted to thank you. For dumping me.
No, really. Thank you. I was a desperate man back then. You were my first girlfriend. And I thought you would be my last. Before you, no woman would even give me the time of day. Of course, they still won’t. But I’ve learned to wear a watch.
Yes, you were so sweet and easy to get along with back then. And by “easy to get along with,” I of course mean, “willing to have sex with me.” And what marvelous sex it was. For me, at least. You always seemed to have something to complain about: “Don’t put it there.” “Not like that.” “You did? Already?” Yeah, those were some magical times.
Sure, you were a narcissistic bitch. But like they say, lust is blind. So when you suggested we drive to Sea World over the weekend, I didn’t complain. I didn’t tell you that the thought of driving over two hours to see a bunch of trained seals didn’t appeal to me at all. I just smiled and said, “Okay.”
The morning of the trip, I woke up and felt a little sick to my stomach. ‘Just nerves,’ I thought to myself. ‘It’ll go away.’ And it kind of did. Until we got on the road. The wind was pretty strong on the coast and it started testing my driving skills. Before I knew it, the contents of my digestive tract was requesting evacuation–a request I could not deny. I had to pull over and get some Pepto Bismol. Fast.
Ah, good ol’ Pepto. It coats the stomach, you know? Well, it did for about ten seconds. After that, it was coating the pavement and the tops of my shoes. Did you even feign concern and ask me if I was okay? No. You actually made me feel bad for getting ill. I’ll never forget that look on your face when I told you that I couldn’t make it the rest of the way to San Diego. It was a look of total resentment. Unfortunately, your relatives at the shark exhibit would have to wait.
Yes, Barbara, I got pretty sick that day. Sicker than I’ve ever been in my life. So sick, I couldn’t lift my head, let alone drive back home. So I turned the wheel over to you, and you angrily drove my car all the way home, almost two hours in total silence.
When we got back to my place, I discovered something rather amusing: You failed to release the parking brake before we got on the freeway. Was I angry? No. I was too busy trying not to vomit again.
Anyhow, I somehow made it to the stairs of my apartment building and started to pull myself up them. That’s when you hit me with another blow: You actually asked me to drive you home. I could barely walk and you wanted me to drive you home. What the fuck where you thinking? I told you to come upstairs and I’d call your parents to come pick you up. But you just stormed off in a huff.
I climbed those stairs and slid myself into bed, only to find that I couldn’t keep anything down. Every time my head hit the pillow, my stomach flipped and I had to race to the bathroom. It was not a happy time. Suddenly, the phone rang. Yes, it was you, Barbara. You were halfway home and you wanted to know if I could come pick you up. Apparently, you were not only a selfish bitch, you were also an idiot. I told you to call your parents. I couldn’t even walk.
Well, Barbara, I ended up going to the Emergency Room that night. I got hooked up to an IV drip for about an hour or two. Then I went to my father’s place to rest. Not that you cared. You never even called to see how I was doing. Once I felt strong enough to pick up a phone, I called you to let you know how I was. You told me you were having a hard time, too. Fortunately, a guy we worked with (who recently broke up with his girlfriend) was nice enough to comfort you for me. In fact, you comforted each other. With your tongues. How sweet.
Anyhow, that’s when you told me it was over. After almost an entire year together. What’s sad is, I would’ve stuck around for another twelve months of abuse, had you not decided to call the whole thing off yourself. Yes, I was that pathetic, that desperate. So, I want to thank you, Barbara. Thank you so much. For dumping me. I’m a better man for it. Because I am no longer with you.
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