Since I have reason to believe you knew about my dating blog, I’d like to extend my deepest apologizes regarding the demise of our one and a half month relationship. Clearly our break-up was entirely my fault, so here goes:
I’m sorry that you went off your meds. When you first mentioned that you’d been on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds, I tried to be understanding. But it’s obvious why a doctor prescribed them to you. You really need to take them. Like, seriously. You have crazy eyes.
I’m sorry about my ADD. While it pales in comparison to your dark and twisted mood swings, apparently it forced you to call a variety of your ex-girlfriends and other friends and family members for consultation on how you should “manage me.” I’m sorry that you’re the first person to EVER have an issue with my supposed inattentiveness. I’m sorry it gave you another fault to pick on.
I’m sorry that you couldn’t stop calling your ex-girlfriends, friends, colleagues, family members, your hair stylist, the cashier at Walgreens, the guy at the stop light next to you, etc. to analyze all faults you found with me bit by bit.
I’m sorry I said the word “like” too much. That made you really mad, didn’t it?
I’m sorry being a slacker on changing my car oil led you to believe that I can’t “handle life management.” I’m also sorry that it forced you to ignore me and treat me like total shit for two days. An oil change. I believe you said something like, “How can you handle raising a child if you can’t remember to get your oil changed?” I don’t know – why don’t you ask every woman ever?
I’m sorry about that time I was ten minutes late. Although 8 minutes was due to being stuck by a slow-moving train on West 117th, I suppose I should have figured out a way to get around it. I mean, 10 minutes late! I’m surprised you only shunned me for (another) two days about that one. I can’t imagine how enraged you would’ve been if we actually had to be somewhere that night besides the couch at your condo.
I’m sorry about that time I was ten minutes late again. At least that time you sulked in your car and waited impatiently for me in the parking lot.
I’m sorry that I didn’t offer to pay for my half of dinner on date nights. Even though your salary was assumingly 4 times higher than mine, our once-a-week dinner dates to inexpensive restaurants must have put a serious strain on your finances. (And by the way, I was getting cash together for our ‘trip.’ I just wasn’t about to offer any to you until we actually embarked on our vacation. Come on, I knew we weren’t going to last.)
I’m sorry that I’m not a doctor or lawyer. You made it very clear that my career in marketing wasn’t good enough for you since I’d never earn enough money to make a strong ‘financial contribution to our relationship.’ I mean, what good is a SEO/marketing person to a man starting his own law practice? What benefits could I have possibly brought to the table on that?
I’m sorry about your mole problem. Seriously, what was with that? There had to be at least a thousand of them covering your body. And you really should’ve warned me that one time I thought I was playing with your nipple, that it wasn’t actually your nipple, but one of your grotesque moles. They were different colors too! Have you considered applying to the Guinness Book of World Records for your moles? Is that book even still around?
I’m sorry that I didn’t laugh at your attempt at humor. You assumed that I wasn’t paying attention (oh, my ADD strikes again). I was. It’s just that the 10 one-liners you have in constant rotation weren’t funny the first time and they weren’t funny the fiftieth time. And quit it with the “over the pants handie” saying. It’s not funny. It’s creepy.
I’m sorry that you couldn’t stop discussing your ex-girlfriends. And all the talk about your sexual history with them? I promise I didn’t need to know every specific detail! Especially right before we were about to have sex. I can reenact precisely how a previous ex behaved in bed with you, yet I don’t even know a single one of their names. You never once said a name.
I’m sorry to tell you that your penis size isn’t average as you claim. The reason the condoms kept falling off wasn’t because my vagina is tight (but thanks for the compliment), but rather because the condoms were too roomy for your package. Maybe that’s why your ex-girlfriends never wanted to have sex with you? (Your words, not mine.)
I’m sorry that I spent too much time on my hair.
I’m sorry that I never knew why you were mad at me. Was I breathing too much? Was I looking in the wrong direction? Did I say “like” too much again? Sit on the wrong side of the couch? Take a minute too long in the bathroom? I never knew!
I’m sorry that time with me cut into the time you’d ordinarily spend trolling Facebook and baiting almost- strangers with attention-seeking posts. Was it necessary to create paragraph-long updates each time you did something for someone? Besides, why talk to me when you can stalk your ex-girlfriends or read posts by people you haven’t talked to in ten years discussing their recent trip to Target?
I’m sorry that you think I didn’t appreciate anything you did. I appreciated everything – however my gratitude was quickly overshadowed by your relentless criticism and the fact that you found fault in every single thing about me.
I’m sorry that I wasted a month and a half of my time with you.
Actually, come to think of it…. I’m not sorry for anything but that last one. You’re a pompous prick and I sincerely hope you choke on your next kale smoothie and vegan cous-cous plate. Like, seriously you’re an asshole.
P.S. Are you sure you’re not gay? You’re awfully feminine and your shorts are too short.