Definitely Not Bitter. Defintely Not.

So there I was, enjoying a pleasant walk in my neighborhood, when I run into the ex and their new love. It’s inevitable when you live in the same neighborhood. See, this is why I should date foreigners, when we break up I can just get them deported. Boom. Problem solved. Now, we have all experienced the suffocating pain and awkwardness of a break-up; unless, of course, you married your first girlfriend/boyfriend, in which case fuck you ‘cause you’re a freak and I hope your significant other has a life consuming addiction to incest porn. The point is we’ve all basically been there. When we are found in the uncomfortable situation of seeing that person again with their new “better half” we are given the choice to either grasp firmly to our dignity or be the asshole who throws it out the window at 80 mph whilst enjoying a road beer. Why are we constantly told, “Be the bigger person, you’ll feel better.” Wouldn’t it feel just as good to break out of the bubble of social decorum? There are only three true options of dealing with running into your ex:

a) Hide in a bush, hoping they don’t see you and just keep walking
b) Smile politely and say, “Hello,” attempting to prove you are over them and can civilly coexist in the same neighborhood.
c) Flip the bitch switch, call the ex a “penis wrinkle” and their new girlfriend a “billy-goat-fucking-chain-smoking-trolley-whore,” then run away with gleeful laughter.

Most would claim to choose A or B with the argument that it would be the best way to respond to such a situation, to walk away with your head held high and a feeling of absolute maturity. What’s wrong with those of us who are considering option C, though? Why must we be vilified because we want to embrace the ridiculous immaturity that is trying so hard to be heard? While I don’t want to be with that person anymore, it is still a knock to be left for someone else, am I wrong?
So I had my options and my indecision of what to do was thinning them out. The distance between us was closing so I knew option A was out. So, I was either going to smile like a prat or unleash the most crushing honesty I could. 20 paces. You’re a circle-jerking-thunder-cunt. 15 paces. Oh hi, been awhile. You look good. 10 paces. Sociopathic, ignorant, oniony fuckwit. 5 paces. Shit. Out of time. But wait… what about a compromise? I could do that. Our eyes locked, I saw a triumphant smile twitching on the new girl’s face. I turned on my warmest, most genuine smile and strategically flipped my hair out of my face.
“Hi Anna.”
“Hi! Wow. It smells like Chlamydia right here. Whoo!” I could feel my smile widen and even my dignity gave me a little high five as I continued down the leaf plastered sidewalk with my head held high. It’s all about compromise, bitches.