It's my first day out of the house since Kit & I broke up. I've been hiding under my covers, crying my sad blue eyes out, since Friday morning. I cannot live like this. I cannot survive another heartbreak this way. I cannot spend days / weeks / months feeling sorry for myself. The pity party ends now. Stand up, dust off, move on. I need a change of pace, change of scenery. It's time to shake things up and give myself the space to heal my heavy heart. Where better to start than a road trip with my girlfriends?
Kim, pack your bag, get in your car, come stay with me. We'll go out and get drunk, stay in and watch movies, shop til we drop, whatever you want. If you're gonna cry, do it on my shoulder. But please, please, get the hell out of Dodge. NOW.
In the last three days, I got some version of this message from every one of my girlfriends. Every. Single. One. There is something to be said for lifelong friendships - they are not fairweather. They are there when you need them most. When you are at your lowest point, when you don't have the energy to comb your own hair, they will show up, force you to shower, pick out your prettiest clothes and get you out of your own way. They'll sit on the couch with you despite your dirty hair and old pajamas, sipping wine and listening to every excruciating detail of your break-up. They will make you tea, give you hugs, and plot revenge on your former beloved.
What's that quote? Good friends will bail you out. Great friends will help you hide the body.
I say yes to every offer. Whether it be pizza, martinis, or a weekend getaway, I am putting myself first now and that means reconnecting with my friends. The car is packed. The gas tank is full. I may be back tomorrow, I may be back next week. Either way, I'm taking the time to sort out my head and my heart. The road to recovery is paved with cupcakes, cocktails and crying. Not necessarily in that order.
Monday night. SoNo, CT. Two girls, one prix fixe menu, four drinks, countless laughs.
Allie and I are devouring our pumpkin risotto and cinnamon donut muffins while I regale her with the awful details of Kit's betrayal. She has a psychologist's insight into his personality which, after digesting all the information I'm spitting out between gulps of Reisling, she determines to be that of a textbook sociopath. I am slightly consoled by this diagnosis. Makes me feel a little more normal, a little more sane.
The distracting part of the evening is the rather large group of people eating at the tables behind us. There must be two dozen or so friends of approximately our age gathered in the middle of the restaurant, all sharing plate after plate of food. Is is a singles group? (If so, Allie & I want to join!) Is it a bowling league? A meet-up? We can't figure it out. They look like they're having a grand old time. Allie and I take turns glancing over at them at making guesses about why they're out in force on a Monday night. Finally, I excuse myself to the ladies room and stop to ask one of the (admittedly cuter) male members of the group what all the excitement is about.
Me: Hi, what's going on here tonight?
Him: Do you like meat?
Me: Ummm, I don't understand the question.
Him: (Slowly) Do. You. Like. Meat.
Me: Buy me a drink first!
Him: (Exasperated) No, no, no. I have jerky.
Me: That sounds like a personal problem.
Him: (Even more exasperated) No, no, no. I have perky jerky.
Him: (Laughing) I'm a jerky salesman. We just landed an eight million dollar sale. This is a celebration dinner.
At which point he literally hands me a sample packet of Perky Jerky.
Me: Oh! That's fantastic. Thanks...for the jerky.
And I walk away blushing from ear to ear.
Being single again? Might be harder than I thought.