The Present

Ex-Boyfriend informed me that I would be receiving a birthday present from him almost two weeks ago. As the date of my birthday approached, Ex-Boyfriend took pains to remind me of this mystery present every couple of days. This did not help as I fought the losing battle of Trying Not to Think About It. The roommate only exacerbated the situation by asking, every night, if I had found out the nature of my gift. I found myself, against my will, spending an inordinate amount of time envisioning elaborate scenarios.

At first these scenarios took place in Central Park or Rockefeller Center. As Manhattan rushed by, and it began to snow, Ex-Boyfriend would get down on his knees and hold out a present so fabulous, so amazing, that I would yell “Please take me back, you can screw all the Asian neighbors you want, just keep buying me things,” and leap into his arms.

After a day or two I moved onto scenarios in dimly lit bars. I would be wearing tall boots and I’d throw the fabulous present back in Ex-Boyfriend’s face and say something crushing (“You cannot buy away the past”). As I got up to leave, other people in the establishment would clap, or at least gaze at me admiringly. I would then self-righteously stride off into the sunset, the heels on my boots clicking with purpose.

As the date in question approached, I tried to be more realistic. I pictured Ex-Boyfriend ringing my doorbell with a box of chocolates and/or a wilting flower in hand. As soon as the offending present was spotted, I would stare at it in obvious disgust, then meet Ex-Boyfriend’s eye and say “Get out. Don’t come back unless you have something from Tiffany's.” I’d slam the door in his face and call everyone to tell them how movie-esque I had been.

In reality, Ex-Boyfriend showed up at my apartment and awkwardly thrust a package into my hands. It was a book. “Thank you, I’ll read it,” I said.

It is a good thing I have such a rich and fulfilling fantasy life.