More than I hate crying, I hate crying in front of anyone, and that’s exactly what I did. I was in the middle of reprimanding myself for letting my heart win out over my head.
Goodness knows darlings, that fabulous women certainly do not put themselves in precarious emotional situations. Vulnerability is for the weak, and the lord knows we aren’t weak. Delicate maybe, but not weak.
I had fallen into a trap of my own making, having made an exception to one of my rules-of-romantic-engagement. Feeling frustrated, angry, and foolish, tears came, and my stomach knotted. Making my way back from a good-old-fashioned-anxiety-provoked-puke, I decided to turn off my head and try and get some rest.
Seriously, who needs the heartache??? Who needs this shit?
And then the room lit up with the faint light of the magical smartphone. A late message is one of three things in my home; an urgent message from the kiddo, a friend’s cry for help, or an old lover reaching out for whatever-it-is-they-miss-when-they’ve-overindulged.
In this case it was behind door number three. An old lover I’ve known as long as one of my oldest friends. “You have been on my mind. Just wondering how you’re doing and if you’re ok. Let’s get together soon.”
Let’s get together soon you say? Ooh-la-la.
This little out-of-the-blue text got me to thinking. Really, who does need the heartache? A delightfully romantic date and a steamy romp are always only a phone call away when you’ve reigned over the land of Singledom, back-up lists, younger men and full-time-on-call lovers longer than any of your gal-pals. Choose your poison ladies, and they show up on the doorstep with whatever your heart desires, and an appetite for everything that’s deliciously bad for you.
My thoughts turned from reprimanding myself and repeating in head the mean words my sweetheart had uttered and over again, to the various and sundry shenanigans that I had been exquisitely escorted through on the arm of my rather storybook suitors. Not. Too. Shabby.
Keeping close to my side of the bed-turned-battlefield, I asked myself again, “Who needs this relationship-heartache shit?”