When it comes to breakups, I’m a big fan of taking the high road. But after the lying, cheating and emotional abuse I put up with for eight months from my ex, it was time to take a detour and run him into the ground.
He was the epitome of a terrible boyfriend.
Before you start to judge me for my extremely childish behavior during this breakup, let me give you a little backstory on this loser. After two years of dating, I picked up on some extremely shady behavior. He stayed over at his “friend’s house” at least one night a week—aren’t we a little old for sleepovers with our besties? He always hid his phone from me and refused to tell me his passwords. He frequently talked down to me and always took me for granted. He deserved every bit of what I had in store for him.
This was the final straw.
I’ve always been told to go with my gut, but for the past year or so, I chose to ignore the gut feeling that I was being cheated on. I spent most of my day worrying about it and thought that I’d become an insecure woman with age. My boyfriend couldn’t possibly cheat on me, right? I was so wrong. One day, while I was scrolling aimlessly through my Facebook feed, I noticed a message pop up. I received a message on Facebook from a girl I didn’t know. It read, “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but I’ve been hooking up with your boyfriend. I had NO idea that he was dating anyone!”
I had a meltdown.
My reaction was almost self-destructive. Instead of directing my rage towards him, I was incredibly angry with myself. How could I be so stupid? I completely wasted two years of my life allowing a man to walk all over me. I was a total fool. After a few weeks of wallowing in self-pity, my bestie looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t get mad, get even.” After everything he put me through, “even” would require quite a bit of payback.
My bestie and I came up with a game plan.
Once I dusted myself off from a few days of ice cream and 24/7 sweatpants attire, my bestie and I got down to business. I couldn’t confront him like an adult because he had the emotional maturity of a 6-year-old. More importantly, though, he didn’t deserve the easy way out. We had to make him pay. Two bottles of rosé and hours of maniacal laughter later, we had a plan.
I left a Post-It on his door.
The post-it read, “I have a surprise for you—meet me at our neighborhood spot at 7 p.m.” I knew he would get home around 6 p.m., so the timing was perfect. He was a sucker for surprises and there wasn’t a chance that he’d miss out on the opportunity to get some extra attention with an ego the size of his.
I kept him waiting just as he always forced me to.
It was obvious to me that he couldn’t care less about my time because he was always 15 minutes late to meet me. Looking back, I’m sure he was wrapping up a date with his side piece. I made him sweat it out for 30 minutes, occasionally texting to say, “I’m so sorry, I’m on the way!”
When I arrived, his jaw was on the floor.
I finally showed up to meet him… with his side piece at my side. I could see a bead of sweat drip from his hairline as we sat down together and smiled. He managed to ask, “What’s going on?” before the two of us ripped him a new butthole. We kept it classy and didn’t cause a scene but managed to match his face to the beets in his salad.
I left him with one final surprise when I went to pick my stuff up from his apartment.
When I went to pack up my stuff from his apartment, I couldn’t help but feel that my work was not yet done. I decided that I deserved to make him suffer, but I couldn’t be too cruel because it isn’t in my nature. The solution I came up with would inconvenience him for days. I went through the apartment and stole every light bulb and battery. Overhead lights, bedside lamps, remote controls, the wireless mouse—you name it, I stole it. I savored the image of him returning home from work to total darkness and confusion. It was exactly the way I felt when I learned he was exploring other women.
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