The Pity Party

Guest Writing Prompt: “Write about a recent conflict.” 

By Becca @The Married Cat Lady

I send a text to my roommate: Haven’t heard from Jimmy still. I think he’s blowing me off. What. The. Fuck.

She replies right away: That’s so strange. Nothing?

I type with a vengeance. Not a word. Last night or today. This is unreal. My sentences can’t even exceed six words. I’m too pissed. I can’t believe this is happening.

Adriene, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.

It’s fine.

I put my phone down and step out onto the balcony of our apartment. I think the weather is mocking me. It’s beautiful out. Sunshine. Warmth. There’s even some little birds chirping.

Fuck this.

How did this happen? I know we hit a little bump, but I thought we passed it. Why would he suggest a date today, and then just completely blow me off?

What. The. Fuck.

I realize then, that I’m embarrassed, too.

I’m being stood up. Sure, I’m not alone at a table in a restaurant, but I’m still alone when I thought I wouldn’t be. Without a word.

I decide to give in to the pity party I so badly want to have for myself. I go back inside and into my bedroom.

I pull my new dress off a hanger. I bought it last week, presumably for a date. I put it on and feel a little better. It’s flowy and springy, and it makes me feel pretty and free.

I also decide that drinking wine alone is appropriate for this occasion.

I take a bottle out of the fridge, and I take out Big Frank, our emergency wine glass. My roommate Ruby found him at the thrift store. He never lets us down.

I bring the wine and Big Frank into the living room.

I plop down onto the couch, open Netflix, and search for Sex and the City. I choose an episode at random—YES! The Aidan days—and pour myself a glass.

I sigh as Carrie’s voiceover speaks to me about sex, or love, or whatever she was spewing, and gulp my wine.

It’s not just me, the girls know my pain, too. I relish feeling sorry for myself, drinking wine and nodding along to Carrie and the girls’ wisdom.

Three episodes, and half a bottle of vino later, Ruby comes home.

“What are you doing?” she asks incredulously.

I had decided to make balloons out of condoms, since I obviously wouldn’t be needing them.

I’m also sprawled out on the couch, disregarding my lack of pants.

“Having a pity party.” I sit up and show her my glass, “Big Frank is comforting me.”

She walks over to the couch. “I wasn’t sure what I’d be coming home to.” She eyes the wine bottle. “Should I go get another one of those?”

I nod solemnly.

“You look like a princess,” she says, and pats me on the head. “Are those condom balloons?” she asks, noticing our new decorations.

“They taste disgusting. A little salty, but mostly like… I don’t know, powdery? It was weird. Bad idea.”

Ruby scrunches up her nose in response and looks around. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

Do I want to talk about how angry I am? How embarrassed I am?

Do I want to talk about how I thought I finally found someone good? And then he blows me off without one fucking word?

Do I want to talk about how I feel like there must be something wrong with me? Why can’t anything ever fucking work out?

I look at Ruby. “WHAT. THE FUCK?!”

The neighbors probably heard me, I shouted those three words so loud. Ruby looks a little taken aback, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows sky high.

We look at each other for a second and then burst into laughter. The kind of laughter that hurts. But it hurts so good. And every time you think it’s over, every time you take a breath, you start again.

Ruby is laying on the ground, clutching her stomach and rolling back and forth like a stuck turtle. I’m doubled over on the couch.

“I… can’t… breathe…” she gasps.

I let it play out, and as it starts to slow, I feel a change. There’s still a pressure in my chest, but it shifts, and I realize what’s about to happen only half a second before it does.

The floodgate opens, and I let it all out. I’m ugly crying. Like, ugly, ugly crying. With my mouth wide open, loud, and choking.

Again, Ruby looks shocked, but she comes flying over. She pulls me into her chest and strokes my hair.

She doesn’t say anything, she just lets me cry, rocking slightly.

“I guess I’m crying now,” I manage to choke out.

“Yes. Yes, you are.” She pushes me back so that we’re looking at each other. “Are you ok? He’s a jerk face.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why I’m crying so hard. We weren’t even dating, really.”

Ruby hands me Big Frank. Tutting, she says, “Yes you were. Maybe he wasn’t your official ‘boyfriend,’ but that dickwad took you out at least five times. You had a planned sleepover at his house. You slept together.”

“Only that first time,” I remind her.

“So what?” She narrows her eyes, “If anything, that shows he thought it might go somewhere, rather than just being sex.” She slams her hand down on the couch. “Fuck him!”

I nod enthusiastically and sip my wine.

“You’re a dime, Ade,” she continues. “Don’t let him make you think anything less.” She slams the couch again.

I shift and sit up a little straighter. “Hell yeah!”

She takes Big Frank out of my hand. “Let’s dance it out.” She pulls me up from the couch, and we dance. I’m flailing about. Ruby’s doing high kicks. We’re both laughing again.

I’m lucky to have a friend like her.

I still feel sad, maybe a little broken. But right now, in this moment, I’m okay.

NB. Phew! What an awesome guest post! I feel like I need to schedule some girl time with my best friends now.

For more awesome posts from Becca, see her blog here.

 

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