So Kirkwood library - sorry, library consortium - is the best for studying, but if you're looking for the Kirkwood drama it's all at Kaldi's. I'm pretty sure I just witnessed a breakup. I only say pretty sure because they weren't speaking English so, lacking a Hindi translator, I can only go off my impeccable ability to read body language. Nothing ruins a latte with a cute little foam drawing of a bird or a tree like the ending of an era - I would know. Of all the break up spots - and I've had many - the coffee shop one is the worst. It's hard to hide drama from the judgmental eyes of fellow coffee drinkers, must less keep your tone to 'latte level'. Trying to keep the volume low and tone pleasant makes everything sound condescending, especially if you try to keep a smile on your face. Things tend to get eyebrow-ey.
The best place for a solid break up is on your front porch. On the front porch you can throw things, scream, stomp (and it makes a nice, satisfying thud on the wooden floors), throw the person off your property, threaten to scream for dad and his shotgun - the whole bit. You don't have to endure an awkward exit or 'who should leave first' business and the possibility that you are both headed in the same direction down the street in which case one you will undoubtedly look like the crazy ex stalker. In the era of technology, honestly most of my breakups have been via phone call or text message. Keepin' it classy one "yea this isn't working" text message at a time. Either that or one of us just...disappears. If we're getting technical here, I'm still in a relationship with two other men in this world with whom I never officially ended it with. I just...disappeared. Not my finest moment.
Based on my expertise, the guy's impressive use of the cold stare, general apathetic attitude, and the fact that he said a lot then didn't say anything makes me think he was the one who did the deed. I almost started to lose it when the girl started to tear up - not the obnoxious tears where you're thinking, "good God. Take a shower and get your shit together, woman." But the little ones where you could easily blame an eye lash or the light in your eyes and be believed. I think the fact that I didn't understand what they were saying made it even worse for me as a bystander (besides the fact that they were sitting at the same table as me but 2 chairs away). He left first, and as soon as he turned the corner she left in the opposite direction. She looked like she needed a friend. I gave her a small smile but I probably came off as a creep - like the guy in the group no one likes who swoops in with a "hey baby" as soon as the love of your life breaks off with you.
So I didn't say anything to her, but I did secretly hope that Karma would rear it's ugly head and the guy would slip on ice on the way out the door - just for breaking up with her in a coffee shop on Friday night.
Everyone (well I guess not everyone, clearly.) knows the best day to break up is a Thursday. That way, you have one day left where you have to get up and go about your normal day to get your mind off things. Wake up, take a shower, get dressed, go to work. But you just have to do that once before you have a weekend. And it's early enough to make alternative plans with friends you haven't seen in a while. Or buy a plane ticket to Mexico. By Monday it's all, "Brian who?" because you had such an awesome, relaxing weekend doing whatever YOU wanted to do that you forgot all about the guy.
I guess I'm not the greatest when it comes to a shoulder to cry on, I'm more of a "mover and doer" type - blame it on my mother. She once caught me crying over a breakup in my room and direct quote, "Ohhh my GOD. GET OVER IT." I never looked back after that. My personal philosophy is that any breakup can be mended with a run long, cold shower, haircut, and a best friend to share a happy hour with. Women of the world: take note.
And if you're wondering, yes, I am sitting in a coffee shop on a Friday night in my sweat pants, sipping tea for my sore throat and editing my thesis. My parents just visited me on their way to Bar Louie's happy hour, just to add insult to illness.
I'm beginning to accept the fact that I am, in fact, blissfully a dork.
The best place for a solid break up is on your front porch. On the front porch you can throw things, scream, stomp (and it makes a nice, satisfying thud on the wooden floors), throw the person off your property, threaten to scream for dad and his shotgun - the whole bit. You don't have to endure an awkward exit or 'who should leave first' business and the possibility that you are both headed in the same direction down the street in which case one you will undoubtedly look like the crazy ex stalker. In the era of technology, honestly most of my breakups have been via phone call or text message. Keepin' it classy one "yea this isn't working" text message at a time. Either that or one of us just...disappears. If we're getting technical here, I'm still in a relationship with two other men in this world with whom I never officially ended it with. I just...disappeared. Not my finest moment.
Based on my expertise, the guy's impressive use of the cold stare, general apathetic attitude, and the fact that he said a lot then didn't say anything makes me think he was the one who did the deed. I almost started to lose it when the girl started to tear up - not the obnoxious tears where you're thinking, "good God. Take a shower and get your shit together, woman." But the little ones where you could easily blame an eye lash or the light in your eyes and be believed. I think the fact that I didn't understand what they were saying made it even worse for me as a bystander (besides the fact that they were sitting at the same table as me but 2 chairs away). He left first, and as soon as he turned the corner she left in the opposite direction. She looked like she needed a friend. I gave her a small smile but I probably came off as a creep - like the guy in the group no one likes who swoops in with a "hey baby" as soon as the love of your life breaks off with you.
So I didn't say anything to her, but I did secretly hope that Karma would rear it's ugly head and the guy would slip on ice on the way out the door - just for breaking up with her in a coffee shop on Friday night.
Everyone (well I guess not everyone, clearly.) knows the best day to break up is a Thursday. That way, you have one day left where you have to get up and go about your normal day to get your mind off things. Wake up, take a shower, get dressed, go to work. But you just have to do that once before you have a weekend. And it's early enough to make alternative plans with friends you haven't seen in a while. Or buy a plane ticket to Mexico. By Monday it's all, "Brian who?" because you had such an awesome, relaxing weekend doing whatever YOU wanted to do that you forgot all about the guy.
I guess I'm not the greatest when it comes to a shoulder to cry on, I'm more of a "mover and doer" type - blame it on my mother. She once caught me crying over a breakup in my room and direct quote, "Ohhh my GOD. GET OVER IT." I never looked back after that. My personal philosophy is that any breakup can be mended with a run long, cold shower, haircut, and a best friend to share a happy hour with. Women of the world: take note.
And if you're wondering, yes, I am sitting in a coffee shop on a Friday night in my sweat pants, sipping tea for my sore throat and editing my thesis. My parents just visited me on their way to Bar Louie's happy hour, just to add insult to illness.
I'm beginning to accept the fact that I am, in fact, blissfully a dork.
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