a PSA for EGASDDE: Ex-Girlfriends Against Stupidly Drunk Dialing an Ex

Friday night. Bobby Brown at Love. Me and the girls go, looking cute. I’m in a pretty good mood. Well, trying to be anyway. And I’m determined to not let the events of the past few weeks kill my night.
Then the phone rings.
It’s “Cater to You”.

Why I’ve not changed that yet, I have no clue. I let it ring for awhile because, honestly, I’m fully aware that this phone call has the potential to ruin my entire weekend. And it’s only 9pm on Friday.

I pick up the phone. I always do. And somehow we start “talking”. Ugh. Why do people talk? Almost Fiance says something, I say something and it seems like the conversation may be relatively normal. And then I say something about our breakup not being hard on him, about him walking away easily and giving up on us. He says something to the general effect of, “It wasn’t easy but starting over is a hell of a lot of work. It’s time consuming.”


“So we’re not worth it?!?” I retort, bitterness peppering my tongue like I’ve swallowed battery acid. He back peddles. No, of course that’s not what he meant. But that’s all I hear.
After a year together, 3 years of knowing each other, our relationship isn’t worth the time and the effort of saving.


By now I’ve completely checked out of the conversation. He abruptly issues a rote goodbye and I hang up. I’m quiet for a few minutes then I decide on a course of action.

I must start drinking immediately.
And I do.

I bought my first drink and didn’t buy anymore of the 7 or so I had that evening because, like I said, I was looking cute. The rest of the night passes in a sweaty, drunken blur. At the end of the night the girls and I stumble our impossibly fabulous, not so sober asses to the car. I sit in the back seat and at this point I am ready to admit that that little seven minute conversation before I ever tossed back my first drink has gotten pretty far under my skin. So I decide, maybe I will call him, talk to him, try to talk some sense into his hard head. So I press and hold #5 on my speed dial and the call connects. He picks up.

“Are you drunk?” he asks me maybe 1.57 minutes into the convo.

Damn. I didn’t know it would be that obvious.

I don’t bother to deny it. He tries to get off the phone pretty instantly and I pretty much beg him to talk to me.

Red flag.

We start to talk. And it’s kinda okay. Things get a little blurry after hello. And then he says, “I tried to get you back, wanted to be with you. You said we would have to start all over. Do you know how much time that would take? How time consuming it would be? I dunno if I feel like doing that.”

I’ve never felt more like shit in my life.

You call one phone call where you vaguely attempt to tell me you miss me and want me back an attempt at reconciliation? You mean to tell me that after everything you put me through, not once but TWICE, I’m supposed to just take you back, trust you not to just up and walk away when shit gets hard for us because YOU SAID SO?

Uh… No.

So after a year of being there for him unconditionally, when he couldn’t count on anyone else in his life, I’m not worth the effort of rebuilding what was once a great relationship.

That’s fine.

In my weakened, drunken state I didn’t have enough time to put my guards up before all of that hit me at once. I started to cry. Then I started sobbing, big, heaving gasps of tears that made my whole body shudder. And he says, “See, this is why I didn’t wanna talk to you while you’re drunk.”

Red flag again.

Who is this man? I have no idea what happened to the man I fell for but who was the stranger on the other side of my phone? I couldn’t figure it out. I stared at the phone for awhile, trying to decipher, and finally I just hung up. Not an angry, pissed off, you-make-me-so-sick-I-can’t-stand-to-talk-to-you kinda way, but more so in a gentle I-really-cant-take-this-anymore-it-hurts-too-much kinda way. He calls right back, livid. We talk for awhile longer. Until silence engulfs both ends of the phone.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he says to me, slightly quiet, almost ashamed.

I sigh and realize that I’m not so drunk that I can’t recognize when I’ve lost. I tell him I’m gonna get some sleep. I hang up the phone without saying goodbye. Because really, there is no need. We already know.

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