Bye Bye Brucie

Today was a tragic day. After just over two weeks of dating, I decided to end my relationship with Bruce. Usually, when I end a relationship, I like to make sure that there is some drama involved, like in the movies. This usually includes frequent outbursts of emotion, door slamming, tossing my hair, storming off, and crying. (Hint: Make sure your makeup is waterproof before shedding a tear. After all, you don’t want to spoil his final image of you. The least you can do, since you are breaking his heart and ruining his life, is to leave him with a pretty parting shot.) But this time, I realized that the demise of the relationship wasn’t entirely Bruce’s fault. After all, he couldn’t help his faulty nose. Maybe it’s genetic, or maybe he has some serious, scent-stealing sickness. Or maybe his mother’s indiscreet use of fragrance ruined him for life. Whatever the reason, I needed to break it to him gently. I knew he would be heartbroken, so, hoping to avoid a scene, I decided to pick a bustling spot for the breakup: the Sephora in Times Square. This would accomplish two things at once: allow me to end the relationship in a very public place, and give me a chance to stock up on bubble bath. (The trials of this relationship led me to indulge in as many as 9 baths a day, nearly wiping out my supply of bath bubbles and beads). And then, the worst happened. Bruce turned up in the orange shirt, leading me to two conclusions: 1. His wardrobe was entirely too small. How many times could a guy wear a single shirt in a two-week period, anyway? 2. He was intentionally trying to annoy me. Hadn’t he noticed the not-so-subtle cues I gave him whenever he wore it? For instance, I would sit a good 1-2 inches farther away from him, and hold his hand only loosely when we walked down the street. The shirt really set me off. I launched into a litany of complaints, ranging from the way the shade turned his skin green to the too-shiny finish of the fabric. Then, I told him that all of the conflict over the scent had really worn me down, and made me realize that we were inherently incompatible. (This is a shorter version of my actual tirade, which lasted about 73 minutes). Finally, I decided to let Bruce speak. After a few moments of stunned silence, during which I braced myself at Bruce’s certain breakdown, he took a deep breath, and then he really floored me. He informed me that he didn’t realize that we were actually dating, and therefore, was shocked by such a stormy breakup! Stunned, I remained silent for nearly 12 long seconds, before I let him have it. Not dating!! What could two weeks of occasional phone calls and dinners and holding hands mean, if not that we were boyfriend and girlfriend? And to think that I was going to let him put his arm around me at the opera as early as our four-week anniversary! I tossed my hair, stormed out of Sephora, and vainly attempted to slam the swinging door behind me on my way out.