Sometimes in relationships you can pinpoint the moment everything changed, the “before and after” moment. With Max, it was when we were in the guest room of our condo and he finally told me that he was not attracted to me. With Jason, I knew I had to end things when he made brownies.
As I have shared, we are so very different, and I mean in every way from upbringing to education to hobbies. I was rolling with it and having fun, but once he said he loved me – and kept saying it – I realized things had taken a turn into something I neither wanted nor was ready for. For one thing, I wasn’t interested in being in a real “you’re my boyfriend” situation. Furthermore, there would be no point to that setup since I knew we had no legit future. And most of all, I would never actually fall in love with him. Of that, I was and still am quite certain.
I know, I know… you’re like, Kat, what’s your damage about delicious brownies?! I will tell you and risk that you will think I’m nuts (no pun intended).
On with my first post-divorce breakup tale...
On with my first post-divorce breakup tale...
He Made Me Brownies, So I Had to Dump Him
Even though I didn’t care for the arrangement, Jason would stay sleeping in my bed in the morning after I would leave for work. (He works late at a restaurant, so it was either seeing each other late or not at all.) One time he slept PAST NOON in MY APARTMENT. This was not OK and I told him so. Like get your ass up at a normal hour, pee, and get out of my apartment. Anyway, this was our setup since the beginning of September when I moved into my apartment. And he was staying here more and more often. While I enjoyed having him in my home, I was also starting to feel a little suffocated and freaked out (that is, when we weren't having Incredible Sex).
So, it was a Thursday and I left Jason sleeping in my bed. Late morning, he texted me saying he got me eggs. I thought this was odd but kind of thoughtful since the night before I’d said I’d run out of eggs to make the dinner I’d been planning. But, he doesn’t have a key to my apartment, so I asked how he did this. He responded that he took the spare key and went out and came back.
Strike One. You took MY spare key, left, and came back?
How about go home?!
Then he says he was making brownies.
Strike Two. What? Brownies? Why?
And with my brownie mix, my canola oil, my tap water
(and fine, his egg).
How about go home?!
Clearly, I was already irritated as I read these texts at work. Then when I came home, I nearly flipped out. Well, not really, but I was ticked!
First, Jason claimed that he did the dishes. To me, that means everything is back in its place, just as he found it. Instead, it meant some crap was on the counter and the dishwasher was full.
Next, I saw evidence that he had used my beloved standmixer, which my sister and brother-in-law just gave me as a housewarming present. (I’d lost the one I’d had in the divorce.) Speaking of evidence, there were small bits of brownie batter all over the place! Funny, but I thought grownups cleaned up stuff like that…
Moving on, I saw that he had eaten about a third of the pan of brownies. Not hot. Then I noticed that my TV’s keyboard and remotes were not put away. It dawned on me: he made the brownie batter, baked them for the requisite 35 minutes, let them cool, then chowed. That’s a long time hanging out in my new apartment, sitting on my new couch, and watching my new TV, and without me!
And the thing that really made smoke come out of my ears was a drinking glass in the sink RIM SIDE DOWN. Max used to do this all the time and it pissed me off to no end because not only did he not put the damn glass in the dishwasher, but now there was a ring in the sink for yours truly to clean up.
But when Max did it, those glasses and that kitchen sink belonged to him too. Nothing in this apartment belonged to Jason. My glass rim rage turned into a realization: Jason is thinking of my TV, my glasses, my kitchen, MY APARTMENT, as his second home.
Strike Three. This wasn't his apartment. It's mine.
And I had to reclaim it.
I have been divorced for eight months, but I’ve only lived alone for six weeks. I desperately needed my own space. I yearned to come home and know that everything was as I left it. It took so much time (not to mention lost dollars and plenty of tears) to finally move into the apartment I’d dreamed of. As a result, I admit that I’m kind of possessive and territorial about my precious one bedroom apartment (in case you weren't already picking up on that). This might sound a little bratty and crazy… unless you’ve ever had to live with an ex. Those of you who have are probably nodding your heads!
So, I knew I had to break up with Jason.
In Part 2, I’ll share the sad and pathetic details of the breakup and its aftermath. As you can probably guess, he didn’t take it well. In Part 3, I'll share... well, you'll find out!
