Day 18 of 100: Oh, Thy Dishes

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I don’t get it!

   I try to grab my drink, but it’s beyond my reach. No different from my ex-boyfriend, distant.

   “It’s not you.” He said, “It's me . . .”

   No shit hey!

   I wish I said that with a straight face, but I couldn’t. My cheeks were drowning in wet make-up at that moment.

   Who takes a girl to a fancy restaurant to break-up with them? Couldn’t he just do it in his car and get it over and done with?

   I finally get my hand on the drink and take a few sips, which are a few more than I have friends.

   What could they possible do to comfort me right now anyway? Sympathize, and then tell me how they went through it too, which is meant to somehow make me feel better about myself.

   I was one hell of a mess and fulfilling the prophecy of watching Ryan Gosling movies after being dumped. Oh, if only I had someone like him. Then I would have the perfect boyfriend and the perfect life.

   Instead, I continue my fall further into depression by getting myself a tub of ice-cream.

   I feel the glare as soon as I enter the kitchen.

   The towers of dirty crockery and cutlery are judging me 

   “Don’t worry dishes,” I sympathize and make my way back to the couch. “Nobody’s doing me, either.”

. . .

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