Mary Panza

Housewife Tuesday – Exit Interview

Mary Panza

I feel safe to say that December 2012 was cosmically bad. Tragedy, tears and people asking questions that will never be answered. It is a freaking scary world. Please realize that I realize that my problems are very small and petty. That being said, they are still my problems.

This NYE was the first one I have spent alone. My heat had gone out twice that day(eight times since Dec 11), I couldn’t finish my drink down at McGeary’s because the repair man couldn’t turn the door knob on my side door so I had to go home. I ate my buffalo chicken sandwich, took a Xanax  and cried my foolish eyes out. Some things about last year were final. Sam was gone. I had ended a relationship that I never should have revisited. A man I had admired called me a nothing. It was an unkind year. Although one thing was unfinished. Whatever happened to Rocco? On January 2, 2013 I asked him the question I should have asked him months ago: In or out?

The answer, without the boring details, is this: out. I have a grown up life. He has an easy life. My personality is sharp (as is his) and we just are not well suited. It was a 2X4 to the head. What am I going to do? I thanked him for being honest and was ready to leave it at that. I should back track. I did this via Facebook message. He called me back almost immediately and I ignored the phone twice. Isn’t it odd that he would consider me the grown up? I would have been perfectly happy if he had messaged back his answer. Damn his manners. So not only does he have to hear me weepy but he wants to meet and talk. Oh fuck no, I said. No need. I had an answer. I was good. He wanted the dreaded exit interview and talk. I reluctantly agreed.

So how do I dress? Does he want to go out and dump me again only this time in public? Do I shave my lady parts? Do I wear a fancy bra? Do I straighten my hair? Do I wear bangs? It was too much. I had the phone in my hand about two dozen times that day ready to cancel and I would be free of facing him. I had yoga pants, two sticks of salted butter, cracked black pepper and a pound of spaghetti with my name on it. I would eat my feelings, hate myself in the morning and everything would be even in the universe. It didn’t happen. (Actually, I am eating spaghetti with butter and pepper as I write this. What? I’m grieving. How dare you judge?) Anyways, he shows up on time, we talk, I get a free meal. I’m still dumped. I’m still sad.

Upon telling my sister, Capri, and Annie the news they go into the whole he is a commitmentphobe, he is not worth it, he is a rat bastard, and all the things your
girlfriends say when you are in pain. Truth be told, I feel it took a lot of guts to face me. He did lots of leaving me hanging because, to him, he felt it was a mistake all along. He owned it and apologized and I forgive him. So done.

I am doing what any dumped, grown, middle aged woman would do. Dyed and cut my hair, overeating carbs, and wondering if I will be alone forever. I am undateable for reasons I didn’t know were problems. I own a home, I have a child, and I fight with oil companies, all real life stuff. In the end, we both said our peace and I don’t feel the need to be an asshole about the whole thing.

I am sorry it took me until now to get resolve this. It took guts to ask him for the things I needed. It took guts to hear no. It takes guts to be honest. Guts are good. I will try again someday to be someone’s girlfriend. I hope he is out there. I hope he has a job and good teeth. Even though life is short, courage should never be underrated or underestimated.

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