My boyfriend dumped me from Honduras, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.
Lying in bed early this morning, I tapped into my Random Thought Process Theater and found that it was playing reruns of David. Specifically, reruns of the morning two months ago when my phone rang at work, and David calmly, happily, told me how relieved he was that he'd found the woman he believed he was meant to marry - and her name was Carla. (My name is not Carla.) Aside from the deep, almost hysterical, hilarity in being dumped by telephone (did I mention I was at work?) by a man in Honduras, I think this would be the most forgettable dumping of my dating career.
What? Did I not care about him? Am I so hardened and embittered by the dating world? No, and no. I was sitting there stunned in my office chair, feeling the phone against my ear and jaw and wondering what happened to the rest of my body when I had a salvific epiphany: this man was a fool. This man was a fool and he was no kind of man that I wanted in my life. Any man who could so self-centeredly perform the sort of antics I was witnessing was not the man who deserved to have me in his life.
I dropped the curtain on the theater and rolled out of bed, thinking that it was the first time I can remember being grateful for a poorly executed breakup. I reached into the closet and, after a thoughtful moment, pulled out David's old Capital City Fire and Rescue t-shirt that he'd given me. It is a spectacularly cool t-shirt, but I hadn't worn it for two months. For the first week I was wavering between burning it or ceremoniously cleaning my toilet with it, a la "Singles", but I have now decided that not only do I like the t-shirt more than I dislike the man, I don't even dislike the man any more. It's a beautiful day.