It’s been a hot minute since I posted (only a week, it’s not that deep, but I’m a drama queen) – and you might be able to guess why from the title. I started off The Big Blog #1 saying I had a boyfriend (I’ve now removed that because I realised friend zoning is quite unnecessary in a blog). I did not expect my 20th blog to be about break ups. But here we are.
Just because I broke up with my boyfriend, doesn’t mean I am now single. Confused? Yeah, same to be honest. For context, I’ll give you the low down – basically, I broke up with him, then we talked things through and realised that a break up was a very unnecessary, irrational decision. So we Gucci now.
His mum gave him some good relationship advice, which was then passed onto me: tell your partner everything. EVERYTHING. Good communication could probably fix many relationships, friendships and falling apart marriages.
Your piss is a pink colour from eating beetroot? Tell him.
You achieved all 3 stars on Candy Crush Level 104? Tell him.
You burnt your sausages in the oven? Tell him.
You sang ‘You’re Welcome’ from Moana in the shower? Tell him.
If you update each other on your shitty lives, then that wonderful thing called ‘trust’ will begin to build up. That other cool thing called ‘understanding each other’ will also appear out of nowhere. It’s fabulous, you should try it sometime.
Relationships are great – you have someone to cuddle, someone to support you during a fucking marathon (ahhh), a free taxi service, someone to get fat so that you don’t look as fat, someone to rant to about your shitty lecturer, someone to proof read your awful awful essays, a hair stylist, a chef, a comedian…
On the other hand though, if you aren’t getting treated right, fuck ‘understanding’ and ‘trust’. Walk your fine ass out the door, as Lizzo would say. Get a haircut. Dye it, if you’re that extra. Get your nails done. Or just paint them if you’re as broke as me. Skip a 9am and have a fat lie in, because a break up is a very valid excuse to miss a seminar. Download tinder. Have a load of hawties tell you you’re peng and then leave because you deserve someone better than a fuckboy off of Tinder. Throw a party. Dress up and get yer tits out, where they belong. Go shopping. Keep yourself busy. Have some girl time. Go to the gym and show your asshole of an ex what he’s missing. Book a summer holiday.
Go be a queen. You’re welcome.