Glass of wine in hand, I sat staring at the box I'd found that morning on my front doorstep.
I'd been running late—as usual, juggling my keys, purse, cell phone and glasses—and had almost broken my neck tripping over it. After checking to make sure it wasn't ticking, I'd put the box in the house and decided to deal with it later. Call it a woman's intuition, but even though it wasn't marked, I knew who had sent it and exactly what it contained.
I didn't, however, have any idea how sifting through its contents would make me feel.
Now it was the moment of truth. I took a sip of my wine and opened the box. I had guessed correctly. It was, in fact, from my now former girlfriend, Stacy. She'd recently dissolved our friendship of almost 20 years because she felt that I'd duped her out of a man. Inside was every memory we had shared. The first thing I pulled out was a softball that I'd autographed as a joke after we'd beaten our rival high school. On it I'd written: "Girls rule, boys drool! Best friends forever, S." I'd forgotten all about it, but now just holding it in my hand tugged at my heartstrings. I'm not going to cry, I thought. The rest of the box contained more of the same—silly gifts I'd given her over the years from adolescence to womanhood, inside jokes that only she would understand. I am not going to cry. And there were pictures, tons of them—the only thing missing from them was my face, which she had strategically cut out of each and every one. Ouch. I started to cry.
Why is it that breaking up with a girlfriend hurts ten times more than breaking up with a man? Maybe it's because we're programmed to know that men will disappoint us. That men will lie, cheat, leave the toilet seat up, lie, scratch their balls in public, eyeball other women right in front of us, lie. But not our girlfriends; our girlfriends are special. They get us. They know what to say when we're down because we've been dumped by a lying, cheating, ass-smacking, hair-tugging, no good son of a ... They comfort us by telling us that he wasn't worthy, that someone better was just around the corner. They offer hope in the form of cosmopolitans and shopping. They take us dancing.
That was it. I suddenly felt the need for the solidarity of sisterhood. I needed to handle this break-up like any other. I would show her—I'd go out with other girlfriends; younger, prettier girls who are no stranger to fun. But who? I went through my mental Rolodex. Wendy and the Hot Cat crew! Perfect! Wait a minute, Wendy's husband despises me, he'd never let her out of the house if he knew it involved making me happy. Katie? My dear, sweet Montana-born Katie. She was, after all, my sounding board, my voice of reason and a total hoot. Of course, she is also the devil's advocate in my life as well—she wouldn't sugar coat anything. She might point out my shortcomings in all of this breakup stuff. No, I wasn't in the mood to accept responsibility for my part yet. Sasha? My yoga teacher and spiritual guru—no, she was away on retreat. Tina's married, Darlene is having surgery, Lisette had her daughter. That leaves ... Skinner Louise! Of course!
Skinner and I have been friends for about 12 years, ever since the night I met her in the ladies room at Big Dog's and complimented her on her incredible legs while she stood at the sink washing her hands. At first I was afraid she might think I was hitting on her, but she didn't. After engaging in a post-pee chat we found out that we were both stay-at-home moms and she invited me to be her workout partner. She promised me that I'd have legs like hers in no time flat. She lied. But I love her anyway and now that we are both divorced, we are double trouble.
A couple of hours later I was sitting at a VIP table at Plush Lounge with Skinner Louise, Hulia the dancing machine and Katherine the waxer, who brought her dry sense of humor that always keeps us in stitches. I'd put together a good crew. These were good women—women with no agenda other than having a good time and enjoying each other's company. They have good hearts, beautiful spirits and some pretty fancy dance moves.The service at Plush was impeccable and the music was off the hook. We danced to the old-school jams until we thought our feet might fall off, we laughed, we talked about men behind their backs, it was perfect. Perfect! The only thing missing was ... Stacy. Sure, she can be a high maintenance, judgmental, crass jerk face sometimes, but she's still one of my oldest friends and I love her.
I went home, dumped out the box o' memories and returned it empty to her doorstep with a simple note attached. "From the bottom of my heart, I am sorry that I hurt you. I hope you will reconsider breaking up with me. I miss you. I'm returning this box to you not completely empty, inside you will find my wish that we can refill it with memories of the next 20 years. Girls rule, boys drool. Best friends forever, S."
I walked away with my fingers crossed, hoping that she would find the box and realize that our friendship was worth fighting for. Everyone knows that the only thing harder than trying to find a good man in the city of sin is trying to replace a good woman.
Sonja covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?