The Boomerang Rule: Men Leave but Always Come Back
And so you left. You were sick to death of her hair, her lips, her habit of distorting words in a cute manner, her food, absolutely tasteless and overcooked.
And so you left.
You were sick to death of her hair, her lips, her habit of distorting words in a cute manner, her food, absolutely tasteless and overcooked.
Her lingerie, the black one that used to turn you on and help restore that fragile peace after arguments, now drives you mad. Those constant nitpicks about your friends, the subtle hints about your too-skinny legs and your increasingly rounded belly.
And, as Beigbeder said, that fateful morning you just didn't shave, and that already meant you had fallen out of love with her completely and irrevocably. What’s next?
A week
Without any remorse, you flirt with that girl from work who remembers how much sugar to put in your coffee. "She has a great ass," you note.
You pack all your ex's stuff in black garbage bags, even checking under the bed and finding a clump of those hated light hair strands. You plan to throw them out next week.
On Friday, you get way too drunk, your friends are happy, but you don’t remember anything. Judging by your phone, you didn’t call your ex, but you also didn’t get any new female numbers.
3 weeks
You promise yourself to make up for the last 2 weeks.
On Wednesday, you accidentally visit her page. Damn suggested posts. You see she’s doing fine. Thank God, you didn’t ruin her will to live. Selfies, photos with friends, landscapes. Well, good. "Just don't accidentally like anything," you think.
A month
Finally, there's a woman in your house. In the morning, it smells like coffee and burnt eggs, not yours, of course.
When she found the black bags in the hallway, she disdainfully pulled out an old pair of shorts. "Put it back, bitch," your inner voice screams.
"Yeah, it's trash, I’ll throw it out tonight," you answer casually.
You already want her to leave. By morning, you notice that you had a bit too much yesterday, her chest is bigger than your hands, and her toes are too long, and that’s starting to annoy you even more.
She leaves, and you reopen Tinder for another dose of deceptive connections.
A friend promised to introduce you to his girlfriend’s friend, as if to rub your nose in your own failure.
There’s a new photo on your ex's page with a slight hint of a firm butt.
You don’t like it, maybe you’ll open it tonight during your usual bedtime ritual. You haven’t decided yet.
2 months
After tripping over the garbage bags in the hallway again, something terrible happens. You move them back into the room, to the far corner, of course.
You accidentally dig into one of them and find a hair dryer and an old shampoo bottle. How much junk these women have, so many tricks and products to lure us men onto their hooks.
Searching Instagram shows her name first. You can’t admit it, but you check her feed twice a day, even timidly liking two completely neutral photos, of course.
A friend has been urging you to write to her for a long time.
You shouldn’t have stayed over at his place that night, got drunk, and told him that sometimes, casually, you still think about her.
2.5 months
You search for a long time and finally find a reason! Her new job, haircut, trip abroad (of course, not with a new man just 2.5 months later, she has some decency) and your timid "hello."
She responds kindly but reservedly.
You write-delete-write. Oh, she laughed, sent a photo, a smiley face.
You’re on top of the world, you can be with her again.
You mention that her things are still at your place, offer to meet.
She stalls. You growl with jealousy.
She’s silent and says she doesn’t need her things anymore.
You’re furious.
Meeting
Unexpectedly, she writes that she’ll be free near your work, the place she used to hate, in an hour.
You curse yourself for not washing the car, for the old sweater, for not shaving.
Search engines yield no new places where you can impress her with your creativity.
At the meeting, you talk utter nonsense because you’re staring at her like it’s your first date. She notices this and laughs. Why is she still here?
The meeting ends too quickly, like a trial version of your favorite video game.
You’re upset, she doesn’t look back.
Was it a good idea to text her a minute and a half after she got out of the car? You’re no longer sure of anything.
"You know, I thought about you every day, I was wrong, but you know, you’re not perfect either. We both need to try again."
What do you think she’ll say?
The Boomerang Rule: Men Leave but Always Come Back
And so you left. You were sick to death of her hair, her lips, her habit of distorting words in a cute manner, her food, absolutely tasteless and overcooked.
And so you left.
You were sick to death of her hair, her lips, her habit of distorting words in a cute manner, her food, absolutely tasteless and overcooked.
Her lingerie, the black one that used to turn you on and help restore that fragile peace after arguments, now drives you mad. Those constant nitpicks about your friends, the subtle hints about your too-skinny legs and your increasingly rounded belly.
And, as Beigbeder said, that fateful morning you just didn't shave, and that already meant you had fallen out of love with her completely and irrevocably. What’s next?
A week
Without any remorse, you flirt with that girl from work who remembers how much sugar to put in your coffee. "She has a great ass," you note.
You pack all your ex's stuff in black garbage bags, even checking under the bed and finding a clump of those hated light hair strands. You plan to throw them out next week.
On Friday, you get way too drunk, your friends are happy, but you don’t remember anything. Judging by your phone, you didn’t call your ex, but you also didn’t get any new female numbers.
3 weeks
You promise yourself to make up for the last 2 weeks.
On Wednesday, you accidentally visit her page. Damn suggested posts. You see she’s doing fine. Thank God, you didn’t ruin her will to live. Selfies, photos with friends, landscapes. Well, good. "Just don't accidentally like anything," you think.
A month
Finally, there's a woman in your house. In the morning, it smells like coffee and burnt eggs, not yours, of course.
When she found the black bags in the hallway, she disdainfully pulled out an old pair of shorts. "Put it back, bitch," your inner voice screams.
"Yeah, it's trash, I’ll throw it out tonight," you answer casually.
You already want her to leave. By morning, you notice that you had a bit too much yesterday, her chest is bigger than your hands, and her toes are too long, and that’s starting to annoy you even more.
She leaves, and you reopen Tinder for another dose of deceptive connections.
A friend promised to introduce you to his girlfriend’s friend, as if to rub your nose in your own failure.
There’s a new photo on your ex's page with a slight hint of a firm butt.
You don’t like it, maybe you’ll open it tonight during your usual bedtime ritual. You haven’t decided yet.
2 months
After tripping over the garbage bags in the hallway again, something terrible happens. You move them back into the room, to the far corner, of course.
You accidentally dig into one of them and find a hair dryer and an old shampoo bottle. How much junk these women have, so many tricks and products to lure us men onto their hooks.
Searching Instagram shows her name first. You can’t admit it, but you check her feed twice a day, even timidly liking two completely neutral photos, of course.
A friend has been urging you to write to her for a long time.
You shouldn’t have stayed over at his place that night, got drunk, and told him that sometimes, casually, you still think about her.
2.5 months
You search for a long time and finally find a reason! Her new job, haircut, trip abroad (of course, not with a new man just 2.5 months later, she has some decency) and your timid "hello."
She responds kindly but reservedly.
You write-delete-write. Oh, she laughed, sent a photo, a smiley face.
You’re on top of the world, you can be with her again.
You mention that her things are still at your place, offer to meet.
She stalls. You growl with jealousy.
She’s silent and says she doesn’t need her things anymore.
You’re furious.
Meeting
Unexpectedly, she writes that she’ll be free near your work, the place she used to hate, in an hour.
You curse yourself for not washing the car, for the old sweater, for not shaving.
Search engines yield no new places where you can impress her with your creativity.
At the meeting, you talk utter nonsense because you’re staring at her like it’s your first date. She notices this and laughs. Why is she still here?
The meeting ends too quickly, like a trial version of your favorite video game.
You’re upset, she doesn’t look back.
Was it a good idea to text her a minute and a half after she got out of the car? You’re no longer sure of anything.
"You know, I thought about you every day, I was wrong, but you know, you’re not perfect either. We both need to try again."
What do you think she’ll say?
