So, you’re freshly single, back on the market, having been innocently sheltered by your significant other of whatever period of time.
It’s time to get back out there: drink, dance, flirt, hook up. All the things that are a tad less risky when you have someone who will carry your drunk ass home no matter what, someone STD-free who has already established their inter-sheet capabilities.
You’re discussing the plan of attack with your girls. And for some reason, they really want to go to the club your ex-s.o. always goes to. Fate? Is life having a good laugh at your expense? Who knows?
But you finally agree and think, “Hey, we’re still kinda sorta friends. Maybe this will be a good idea. Maybe we’ll reconnect and get married and have babies and have the perfect life. So you pretend not to be excited or even care, but you know you do. You shave the legs, the pits, you look hot as hell. And you start with some crazy pre-gaming — up to and including including throwing back shots.
But this is a recipe for disaster, no matter what happens. Your expectations are never going to be fulfilled.
Scenario 1: He’s there, he ignores you, aggressively grasps some random chick’s ass. You cry in the bathroom and refuse to come out.
Scenario 2: He’s there, you talk, and end up fighting. He complains about you ruining his night, and he leaves. You pitifully take drink after drink to somehow punish yourself for making him mad. And since everyone saw you fighting at the bar, you have to purchase those drink yourself. Bummer.
Scenario 3: He’s there, you talk, laugh, and everything seems great. You take each other home and engage in mind-blowing sex.
Yeah right. You’re probably hallucinating as a result of scenario 2.
Scenario 4: He’s not there. You spend the first 30 minutes making rounds at the club looking for him.
Then you accept a drink from the first offerer, and repay him with an obligatory two dances while making faces at your friend who is also grinding some pathetic guy who’s trying to get laid.
Scenario 5: He’s not there. You decide to down as many drinks as you can while fake smiling and wishing you could be wasting these calories on Ben and Jerry’s instead of shit vodka-cranberry. You end up crying outside the bar while some creepy “infantry/army” guy tries to cheer you up with shots and the potential of accompanying him back to his hotel. Thanks, dude.
Scenario 6: He’s not there, you somehow manage to stay emotionally stable and dance with your girls. But every hand that “accidentally” slides across your ass is a painful reminder that you’re good enough to fuck, by not good enough to be committed to.
You end up crying yourself to sleep and texting your ex the kind of text that officially puts you in the “crazy” category.
Save yourself some emotional stability, cash, and reputation points by counting tonight as a loss and getting drunk off wine and Ben and Jerry’s instead.