What to Do When Women Break Up With You
January 10, 2004
by
Bernard Chapin
Even
legendary heroes must sometimes have to suffer vicious reversals.
Disaster does not only befall people like you and I. It has, without
exception, marred the lives of all men. General Grant had his Cold
Harbor, General Lee had Gettysburg, Churchill had Gallipoli, but for
you and I, in less heroic circumstances, it could well be ruination
by some young, luscious vixen who, by design or accident, succeeded
in acquiring the key to all of our endorphin receptors.
Maybe you went out with her for a month or maybe you saw her for
three years, yet, whatever the duration, your time together was drenched
with pheromones, saliva, testosterone, fascination and euphoria.
On your end, it was love or, at least, love’s very close approximation.
For once, everything in life really was copasetic. Your thoughts
of the future affected you like an IV full of cocaine. It didn’t
matter what this particular future happened to be. Your hopes could
have been either conventional or wildly unconventional.
If you happen to be a chump like me, then your wishes involved getting
married and having children. In you’re like my friend Vivo, an idyllic
relationship manifests living together and seeing the world. If you’re
like my pal Johnny Q-bacca, a personal utopia includes copulations
with all of her friends, cousins, and sisters– along with the muscular
presence of electrical cables, photographic collections, and homemade
videos.
My point is, regardless of the specifics, occasionally you come across
a wonderful girl who makes you see a horizon that looks mighty good
indeed. She answers all questions.
Then, in the midst of perfection, she suddenly breaks up with you.
You, of course, do not see it coming. It’s as if you’re a character
in a Loony Toons episode when an anvil descends from the sky.
It leavens both you and the skyscraper of expectations you began to
construct.
She came to your final meeting bearing plans for another Pearl Harbor
while you came bearing admiration and (hopefully not) flowers and
presents. It is her vocal chords, in this case, that will deliver
the bombs and, when they come, they will be deceptively encased in
a tone of honesty and caring that undoubtedly comes right out of a
“When it’s Time for Him to Go” episode of Oprah or Jenny Jones.
You may hear, “I just don’t think this is working” or “I want something
different than you” or who knows what else. But what difference does
her explanation make? Don’t even bother listening. It doesn’t matter
what she says. If something like this comes up in conversation then
you’re done anyway. It’s over. Now she’s looking for someone else
if she hasn’t found him already.
Exactly this happened to Vivo’s lifting partner. His girl broke
up with him suddenly and unexpectedly. When she did it, he made the
mistake of listening and believing her glossy explanations, so he
held her torch for two months thereafter. He even moronically defended
her when Vivo and I told him it was time to move on.
One Sunday he went with Vivo and Vivo’s squeeze, Hazel, to the diner
across the street for brunch. It happened to be a location that he
often frequented with his ex. On the way in he saw her walking out
with a guy. They had obviously only recently woken up and for her
it was on the wrong side of the new guy’s bed.
She greeted him, “Hey.” When he looked dumbfounded that she was
holding some guy’s hand, she snottily informed him, “I live here too.
You know this isn’t just a restaurant for you. Get over it.”
Put yourself in his position but this time just say “no.” Don’t
listen to a siren’s song. Let her talk and talk…after you leave.
A Grimm Fable will be told to you and, due to your feelings for her,
you may believe it. This will make you the only person in the world
who does.
When she breaks up with you, there are several options. You could
try to talk her out of it but that is the stupidest choice of all.
In such a scenario, she could become a serial player with you paying
her rent. When she’s caught either through visual or DNA evidence,
she’ll rationalize her guilt away with: “I told you I wanted to break
up but you wouldn’t let me and that’s why I strayed” [and strayed
and strayed]. Don’t argue with her. Let her go. This way the public
knows that whatever or whoever she’s doing is not a reflection upon
you.
Notice that I said “public” here which is unquestionably a red flag
for many readers. You may be thinking “what do I care what other
people think?” Okay, you’re right…most of the time. I too don’t
usually care about societal perceptions but the public embarrassment
of her behavior will eventually erode your confidence and turn you
into a two foot tall version of your former self.
You could also react to the break up in other deleterious ways.
You could go ballistic, you could yell, you could threaten her, even
start balling, you could stalk her or even say that you’re going to
kill yourself, but none of these options should be considered or enacted.
First, if you did any of that stuff, it would fulfill the fantasies
of every radical feminist who ever walked– in their anxious and toothless
Cro-Magnon fashion– on the face of this earth. They’d run around
telling women who are normally too bright or attractive to acknowledge
them, “See! All men are all beasts! Contribute to NOW.” You can’t
have that on your conscience.
Second, none of these outrageous actions yield anything more than
temporary benefit. Why go to jail over some girl who doesn’t give
a damn about you? Why kill yourself for someone who has already began
moving her things into Johnny Q-Bacca’s porn shack before she ends
things with you? And what good does stalking accomplish? You think
she’ll a slut? Now you’ll get proof. Congratulations. No, to hell
and damnation with counter-productive acts.
What I’m saying here is that you should be positive. Now, at this
moment, when things cannot be any darker, is when you should have
a character moment and defend your honor.
What you do after she breaks up with you goes directly into the annals
of history. Do not let sterling opportunities for redemption slip
away. When you’re down about something else a decade later, you can
always reflect back on what you did after some girl gave you the hammer
and say to yourself, with Churchillian authority, “That was my finest
hour.” It will be and monuments will be built anew after she’s gone.
The method of response I’m about to share applies to women you love,
to those you merely like, or even to those whose hips are the only
part with which you genuinely enjoy interacting. The method can deployed
either on the phone or in person.
The first thing you should do is stare them in eye. Then drain your
body of emotion before speaking. This might be easier than you think
because you may be in a state of shock at the terrible news she’s
issued. On the phone, voice quality is all that’s needed, but, if
you are standing or sitting before them, then you should shrug your
shoulders and slouch as if your remote control just discovered six
consecutive hours of football.
Whatever you do, don’t let your speech roll. You’re not selling
anything in the traditional manner. You don’t want to act like a
conman. Be deliberate. This will allow your words to resonate as
the truth. Talk softly and choppily, as if each word was a short
step up a mountain. Then impart:
Gee, that’s too bad…[Look around a bit here] I
really enjoyed sleeping with you…I mean, you know, your body’s awesome…[full
smile now]…I’ll be sad to see that [insert her most
attractive body part here] go…I know I’ll never forget you.
I’ll fantasize about you everyday, especially before I go to sleep
at night.
That’s it. The effect will be the same as Bret Favre showing up
to play Quarterback in the fourth quarter for the local high school
team. With those simple sentences you’ve turned a 49-3 route into
a 23-20 overtime loss. She, if you do a good job and walk away like
a gentlemen, will be outraged and confused about your relationship
for the rest of her days. More importantly, you have permanently
restored nobility to your house, and have esteem from which to draw
upon in future crises.
Think about it, does anybody make movies or write books about the
strength of character a person displays after they win the lottery?
Absolutely not. They write and film epics concerning how we act under
adverse or horrific conditions. That’s what people care about and
remember. Who cares how the way in which a person dances after winning
the Indiana superball?
Why does my approach work? Because your soon-to-be ex thought you
were in love with her and now, just through a short speech at a dire
time, you have de-legitimized every kiss, every card, every present,
every phone call, every dinner with her relatives, every night with
her friends, and every “I love you” that you ever whispered. You
responded to her sneak attack with nuclear tipped missiles and your
strike will send her sprawling into chaos.
Every single woman, even the nastiest beast on the planet, secretly
harbors the fear that men are only interested in them for sexual satisfaction.
Now, you have highlighted their fears with a mighty green marker and
make them a reality.
You don’t need to argue with her or say anything else. Your merely
mentioning her breasts or butt at a time of assumed bereavement is
enough to dismantle all the pride she previously generated by thoughts
of giving you the heave ho. This was supposed to be your concession
speech and it was, but all you conceded was that her physical
attributes will be missed.
You, Gawain, are now a hero.
Think about all the terrible things you eliminate by quoting the
recommended passage above. She had the tale pre-configured before
your meeting began. You were set to go down in her life as just another
sucker who wasn’t good enough.
She’d be gaily cranking out the story concerning your termination
at every opportunity for the next several decades. She’d tell the
way in which you groveled or had a meltdown to her girlfriends, her
parents, her co-workers, her husband’s to be, and maybe even some
clown that she paid to entertain her kid at his fifth birthday party.
The plot would have been ugly and emotion filled. Let’s use the author
as an example:
“Bernard was crushed. He really loved me. He was so upset.
I don’t know if he was ever right after it was over. Bernard kept
going out searching and searching for my replica. Who knows if he
found her? I hear him and Dianabol are slowly drinking themselves
to death. When will they get smart and move to the suburbs? What
empty lives they lead.”
Now, after the little speech when asked about what happened with
the affair, she’ll snap,
“I don’t want to talk about Bernard. Don’t ever bring up his
name again.”
Now, you have accomplished something that one hundred scheming, pathologically
lying, Marxist professors never could; you have completely rewritten
history. Who was once a dope is now an enigma. Congratulations.
Of course, this doesn’t actually lessen your pain because you probably
did love her and will be demoralized for a short-time by her departure,
but she’s not your friend any more and pride must be preserved at
all costs. Cry on your pillow, punch the wall, or scream on the veranda,
just make sure you do it after she’s gone.
There is no chapter in this book in which I more strongly urge you,
as a reader, to follow my advice. As Hillary would say, “in your
heart you know Bern’s right.”
Bernard Chapin
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Bernard Chapin
is a writer in Chicago.