This is my first real break-up… and it sucks.
I finally understand what all you suckers mean when you talk about “heartbreak.” The first four days were miserable. I felt like writing tear-stained, cliche’-ridden poetry while simultaneously burying myself in a deep, dark hole filled with endless amounts of red wine and cookies; all the while listening to chick-flicks and female power ballads play on an endless loop in the background.
But insteeeeead… for those first few days, I attempted to stuff my emotions into the back-alley storeroom of my mind and smoke them out by filling my time with friends and outings and bars. That, my pretties, was a bad choice.
I realized I was not, and am still not, ready to accept flirtatious advances by men. Last night I went out with The Bff to a bar and got hit on by our bartender.
Me: Why does it make me angry or sad when men hit on me now?
Bff: Because you’re not ready to even think about dating yet. But isn’t it better to get hit on than to get ignored?
Maybe it was the slight ego-boost I needed. Am I ready to date right now? Hell no. But after the burn of a break-up it was nice to know that I could if I wanted to. However, my standards and expectations for a man and a relationship have changed drastically. That’s not to say you can’t meet a man in a bar, but he’s gotta’ have a little more going on upstairs than just a pretty face and a slick tongue.