I am beginning to think I am going to grow old alone, that I missed the boat, and it sailed away into the sunset with my handsome, kind lover of a man on board–without me.
I need to write about this because I want it to go down in my dating archives. I had finally accepted that I could most certainly live with an imperfect human being that I still thought, strangely enough, was so perfect for me. That’s how it lasted so long, and that’s how I stuck it out through the good and the bad.
And then for the record, he broke up with me, over, and over, and over, and over…
The final breakup, whether he knows it or not (I’ve decided I’m not letting him come back again only to break up once more) was defined by my unwillingness to get breast implants. You see, according to him, now that I have a job I should focus my funds on my chest area. Excuse me, but I don’t think he “gets” that he was dating a self-proclaimed feminist. Power to the ladies with fake ta-tas, but they are-not-for-me. I didn’t go to school for seven years, and get a graduate degree, to go out and get boobs. I like the fact that all men look at my face when talking to me, albeit because there is nothing to see on my chest area, but still. I plan on keeping there eyes upward.
Guys, if you want to break up with a girl over her boob size at least have the common sense to keep it to yourself. It’s not very attractive, and even when it’s introduced with the annoyingly obvious, “I know this is shallow” statement, it makes you sound like you’re the one needing an implant–near your cerebral cortex.
I’ve been single far too long, and after spending a year and a half with this guy, I think I’ve reached an all time low, low, low in the dating world. bye bye boob guy.
hello world, I’m single, flat as a pancake, and ready to date!