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The Art of Breakups
It all starts with a phone call. Often, it was around noon, so, by this time, I was usually stuffing my face with the ramen I randomly found in the cabinet.
This was how I was able to do it.
I would sit myself on our broken in leather sofa, the same one dad had gotten fifty percent off at Penneys, and I would shift the phone into the crook of my neck, holding it in place with my shoulder.
My bowl of ramen would be sitting tucked in between my legs, the warmth of it stinging the bare skin of my thighs. And, then, I would just idly wait as the phone on the other end rung. And rung. And rung.
If no one picked up after the third ring, I hung up and called back an hour later. If, by the second ring, someone picked up, I would simply do this:
Unidentified Person: Yes? Who is this?
Me: Um, is >insert random boy's name here< there? This is Julie.
Unidentifed Person: Oh. Well, let me just go get him for you.
Random Guy's Name: Hello?
Random Guy's Name: Oh, Julie, hey. What's up? You okay?
Me: Actually, I just called to say I was breaking up with you.
Randome Guy's Name: What?
Me: I. Am. Breaking. Up. With. You. I just don't it's working out, you know? I don't know you all that well like I used to and, let's face it, our relationship is going no where.
Random Guy's Name: *Still in shock*
Me: Well, just thought I'd let you know. Bye!
If it didn't go exactly like that, then it would be something along those lines. It was the same thing, every time. The only thing that was different would be the guy being super ticked off instead of, well, shocked. I really didn't care for those, you know?
But, sometimes, it had to be done.
And, it was at this very time, that I was about to call my latest boyfriend (soon to be ex). His name was Patrick Mitchell. Six foot two, blonde hair, brown eyes, captain for the guy's soccer team. Really smart. Nice. But boring. He had no personality whatsoever. So, this was how I was to spend my Saturday morning. Calling Patrick and dumping him just like the others.
So, with ramen bowl in hand, and my happy butt on the couch, I dialed his home number. I knew he would be there since he didn't have to leave for work until two.
Instead, though, his mother picked up.
"Hello?" She asked.
"Um, is Patrick there? This is Julie." I took a slurp at my ramen and waited as his mother ran to go get him.
He suddenly got on the line. "Hello?"
"Hey, Julie. How's it going?" I could hear him rustling around in his room. He had a habit of getting dressed while he talked to me. Another one of my pet peeves.
"Fine. Hey, I just thought I called to say that I'm breaking up with you."
There was silence on the other end. "What?"
"I. Am. Breaking. Up. With. You. I just don't think it's working out, you know? I don't know you all that well like I used to and, let's face it, our relationship is going no where."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, Patrick, I am."
Patrick sighed into the phone. It was a little shaky, and that was when I realized that Patrick was one of the sensitive ones. Which meant if was time to hang up. Now.
"Well, sorry to do this, but, I've got to go. Later!"
And, before he could respond or start crying, I pressed the End button, disconnecting us.
I tossed the phone on the table and took another bite of the noodles. Just another day's work. He would be over it in about a week. They always did.
I reached for the remote and turned it to the History Channel, where they were doing a documentary on the Holy Grail.
As the montonous voice droned on and random people with their doctorates came on the screen. But, honestly, I wasn't really in to it. I had watched it twice, already and had practically had everything on it memorized.
I put the bowl on the table and curled up on the couch, setting my head on the arm.
This was my typical Saturday.