I broke up with Ex-B, for the first time, on a Tuesday. (Yes, we broke up more than once over the coarse of a year.) The following Friday my friend D was in town and we went out for a couple of cocktails.
Unbeknownst to me, Ex-B had taken to stalking me that week. Had I known this, I'm not so sure I would have chosen to escort D back to his hotel for one last cocktail, but alas- that's exactly what I did.
It was around midnight when the texts began.
"I know where you are, I know who you are with, and I know what you are doing...you will regret this, I promise!"
On...and on...and on. Clearly Ex-B has an unlimited texting plan.
D and I decided it best at this point for me to stay the night at the hotel. I had visions of finding Ex-B armed, dangerous, and intoxicated waiting for me just outside the front door.
Two thoughts hit me simultaneously when I awoke the following morning. 1) He's gone to my house, used the key I gave him, and done something awful. 2) He's contacted my mother.
Don't ask me how I knew these things, but I did.
I called my mom as I drove home and, sure enough, Ex-B had sent her an email describing in detail what he believed I had been doing throughout the previous evening.
(As a side note: No woman, of any age, should ever have to hear "You need to learn to keep your panties on and your legs shut" come out of their mother's mouth.)
When I pulled into the driveway of my house, I immediately began scouring the property. Either Ex-B was about to pop out from around the corner with a machete and a stink eye...or the place was going to go up in flames the second I opened the door.
And yet...nothing. Not one thing was out of place! No way, this was way too easy. I was halfway through my morning shower when it hit me.
I knew exactly what he had done.
My heart pounding in my chest, a lump of fear lodged deep in my throat...I walked. Ever. So. Slowly. to my bedroom nightstand. Hands shaking, I opened the drawer.
GASP! My worst fear realized, tears sprang to my eyes.
It...was...gone...
That asshole piece of shit threw my vibrator in the dumpster!! Yes, my dear 'pet' rabbit lay dying among week old vegetables and used Q-tips. And that's when I heard the only sound that could make my morning even worse...
The rattle, hum, and click of... the garbage truck.
Since that fateful day, there are two things I've come to believe: 1) A true best friend is someone who, upon hearing of this tragedy, runs right out and buys you a replacement vibrator. And 2) Somewhere in America there is one very happy wife of a garbage man.
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