A break-up story

Peter’s post got me waxing nostalgic (wait, that’s not really a phrase is it?) and reminds me of my favorite survey that circulated back when people were still on Myspace. It was a survey of “firsts” – first kiss, first date, first grade teacher, first broken bone. Missing from the list was “first breakup.” No one’s asking, but here’s mine.

My college boyfriend broke up with me because I wouldn’t pop a zit on his back. Okay, number one reason was because I was emotionally suffocating him, but a close second would be that I refused to pop a zit on his back. I don’t remember him having backne, as I recall his skin was just fine. But there was a time during our lengthy month and a half relationship when he asked me to pop something and I flat-out refused. I’m the type of gal who likes to leave a little mystery in a relationship, or so I’d learn as this was really my first boyfriend and therefore also my first experience with such an intimate request. I remember walking into his dorm room, seeing him sitting there shirtless with a girl bent over him. This girl shall remain nameless for no other reason that I can’t remember her name. But it was something bland, much like her personality. She’d been sniffing around the guy who would become my first ex-boyfriend all spring quarter and I’m sure she was more than happy to meet the challenge of his back zit. It was the beginning of the end really. Not long thereafter he stopped by Haggett Hall to tell me I was moving too fast (in his defense, I did bring up marriage after only a few weeks…like only a 19 year-old girl or a crazy person would be able to do with complete sincerity) and that he wasn’t ready for the kind of commitment I was asking for (apparently he was just looking for an aesthetician). I listened politely and without protest. Then I nicely asked him to leave as I had to get ready for a play I was planning on attending with a couple girlfriends. I cried quietly on Claudia’s shoulder the entire length of the Seattle Rep’s production of Waiting for Godot. I got home and called my mom, she put a pot of coffee on and let me cry some more. For the next three days I ate only oranges and caught up on all my reading and writing assignments, cleaned my room and got a tattoo. I got custody of most of our mutual friends, even moved in with two of his roommates the next year. He got braces and joined a fraternity and we were friendly whenever we ran into each other, which ended up being fairly often as he started dating a friend of a friend (a sweet girl who, quite frankly, could have done way better). As far as breakups go, I guess it was pretty easy. And to this day I have yet to pop a pimple on someone else’s body.

Thanks, Joe

Gretch