Ever been dumped by a boyfriend or girlfriend? Was it a total surprise, or something you saw coming? Tell us your best worst breakup story. Never been the dumpee, always the dumper? Relate the story of a friend who got unceremoniously kicked to the curb. Change the names to protect the innocent if you must.
I swear, I laughed out loud when I read this prompt. Loud guffaws. Tell about a break-up?!? Hell, this blog was STARTED as a way for me to work through the rambling musings bouncing around in my brain post-break-up with my former love! I have written mmmaaaannnnyyyy posts about the very subject. Well, more about the aftermath than of the actual event, but still. I’ve also written about the end of my marriage. May haps I should just link my whole damn blog!?
But, I shan’t. As while those are interesting stories, they are not one of those epic “Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me?!?” break-up stories. But, honey, have I got one for you. Buckle up!
I have mentioned before that I was engaged TWICE in my early twenties, neither of which “took.” I am not three times divorced. Just once, thank you very much.
So, here is the story of my break-up with fiancé #1 – AKA Fratboy.
Fratboy and I met my first year of college. Became engaged my second year, and were planning a wedding the summer I graduated. Right on schedule.
Fast forward to the summer before my final year. We were in the homestretch! 10 months before we were to be married! Life was perfect…or so I thought.
I show back up to school for my senior year, my head full of plans for the future, and a U-Haul trailer full of my stuff. Fratboy meets me at my dorm to help me unload and to help carry all my things up three flights of stairs. WHAT A SWEET BOYFRIEND!!! Was I lucky OR WHAT?!?!?
Back and forth we go for 45 minutes. Everything seemed fine. We had spoken the night before and he told me how happy he was I was going to be back the next day and how happy he was that I was going to be back in the same town with him and how much he missed me and loved me. Blah blah blah. While I had chattered on about how I had just gotten my ring professionally cleaned and how sparkly it was and how I couldn’t wait for him to see it. Ah…bliss.
So, here we are on the final trip down the stairs to get a few more things, when about half way down Fratboy says to me, “Hey, let me see the ring.”
I grin and hold my hand out for him to see the sparkle. “Isn’t it beautiful?!?”
“No, let me SEE it,” he replied.
Being the trusting young thing I was, I slid the ring off my finger and held it out to him to look at. Makes sense, right? I mean, we were GETTING MARRIED!!!!! Weren’t we?
He takes the ring from me, and then…
(ready for it?)
PUTS IT IN HIS POCKET!!!!!
My ring. It was no longer on my finger. It was no longer in his hands. IT WAS IN HIS DAMNED POCKET!!! What the hell?!?
My two-thirds of a carat heart-shaped diamond on a gold band FREAKIN’ CUSTOM-MADE FOR ME engagement ring WAS IN HIS POCKET!
Ok. In retrospect, the ring was incredibly cheesy, and I want to go back and slap the shit out of my 20-year-old self for ever loving it in the first place. But, HE PUT MY RING IN HIS POCKET AND I WANTED IT BACK!
I remember I kinda laughed and said, “Hey! Give it back!”
“No,” he said. “I’m going to keep it. I don’t think I want to do this any more.”
(BTW, gentlemen, “I THINK” is a passive statement. If you are in the process of breaking up with someone, passive terms do not sugar coat the situation. Use plain language. A helpful little hint from me to you. You are welcome.)
All this happened as we were walking down the three flights of stairs to go back out to the parking lot of my dorm.
At this point I am somewhat hysterical. Standing, by now, in the parking lot next to my 1974 orange Volvo SOBBING. He asked if I needed him to bring my things up to my room.
I just answered, “NO! I WANT MY RING BACK!”
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that right now,” and he got in his car and drove away.
Somehow I made it back upstairs and into the arms of my best friends who started calling him every name in the book, and how they never liked him, and how I was better off, etc., etc.
And how right they were.
If I had married him, I know for a fact that I would have either divorced him, or killed him. Either way, I would not be with him now.
Ironically, he ended up marrying another girl from my college. She is Facebook friends with several of my Facebook friends. I can not tell you how badly I want to stalk her pictures and see if she has a cheesy two-thirds of a carat heart-shaped diamond in a yellow gold band engagement ring sitting on her finger. Just so I can laugh, and know how she was given the ring that was custom-made for ME!
Oh, and to be ever so grateful for the day that Fratboy took it back.