Butter Knives & Broken Hearts

Hangover: You wake up next to a strange man and think - What the hell did I drink last night???

Break-Up: You wake up next to a tub of margarine and think - What the hell did I eat last night???

There is an unwritten list of things a woman with a broken heart should not find herself in the company of. Butter knives and bad boys are on top of that list. Yet that is what I woke up to this morning. (The butter knife, not the bad boy. That is a very different kind of blog!)

We've all been there. The morning after blur of events gone by. Recapturing the night before. Trying to put the broken pieces back together in the glaring light of day. Think, Kimberly, think!

My sweatpants are in a pile on the floor, mixed up with various Girl Scout cookies.

I am wearing nothing but toe socks.

There's a spoon sticking straight out of a jar of Nutella on my desk.

There are three seasons of Glee downloaded to my Netflix account.

A torn open packet of French vanilla hot chocolate is stuck to the night table.

A salted pistachio is caught in my hair.

My web browser shows a history of funny cat pictures and several Google searches of my ex's name.

There's a Butterfinger wrapper being used as a bookmark in my copy of The Help.

I woke up with a tub of margarine in my bed.

This. Is. Bad.

I was wondering why I was itchy all night. My sleep was broken and restless at best. In my sunrise stricken stupor, I spot the ten million breadcrumbs that account for the feeling of being attacked by fire ants. Trouble is, I don't see any bread.

Oh, no! The bread is gone, but the plastic bag and the butter knife are under my pillow. I ate the whole damn bag?!?! AND I tried to hide the evidence?!?! More than that, I was snuggling silverware? This is definitely a new low for me.

How many more boxes of candy cane Oreos must sacrifice their lives for me to prove to myself and the world that I don't need a man? Because maybe - just maybe, I do. I do need someone in my bed, holding me at night, prying the Rocky Road ice cream out of my hands, kissing my sticky sweet lips, and telling me it's all going to be ok. Someone to wipe my salted caramel tears away, get me a fresh glass of water, and calm me down from my sugar high. Someone strong and secure to make me see myself as beautiful, and get me to step away from the not-so-complex carbs. Someone to cuddle up to, who (unlike the butter knife) won't cut me, hurt me, make me bleed when I am at my most vulnerable.