HOW TO BREAK UP WITH A GIRL

HOW TO BREAK UP WITH A GIRL

 

It seems like I work around the clock, so on that rare occasion when I’ll put my feet up on the deck, smoke a cigar and drink a Corona Light, it is an event.

 

My son rolled the glass door open and plopped down.  I looked at him through a cloud of mellow smoke.

 

“Yes, my son?”

 

“Dad,” he said, looking at the ground.  “How do you break up with a girl?”

 

I smiled.  Did he ever come to the right place.  Two marriages and two failed engagements into my forty-something life, I realized the one skill I’d lacked was breaking up.

 

I also knew he was on his first girlfriend.  At fifteen, he’d been in taekwondo practicing when this hot little blonde number asked him out, and had been dominating him ever since.  The boy’s mom, ex #1, had complained of seeing hickeys below his beltline.  The last talk I’d had with him about her I’d given him condoms.

 

No, actually that was two talks ago.  I’d noticed that the blonde had given him a reading list.  And a movie list.  Like a good student, he was reading the Anne Rice books she loved, the books of poetry she required him to be conversant in, and the movies she loved, so that he would be a better boyfriend.

 

“You know, son, you have a list of favorite books and beloved movies.  Why don’t you write down a list and give it to her?  That way, she can be an expert in what you like, just as you are with what she likes.”

 

The first lesson in mutuality.  It went as expected.  He delivered the list to her, and she sneered at it.  Dad’s lesson got learned the hard way.  She’s just not that into you, son.  He’d returned from that mission a wiser, if sadder, young man.

 

“Let me ask you something.  Why do you want to break up with her?” I asked.  I thought I knew what he would say, but he surprised me.

 

“Dad, she just wants to change me too much.”

 

Beer spurted out my nose onto the patio table.

 

“Oh my God, son,” I said, choking from laughing.  “You may as well keep her, they ALL do that!”

 

After a moment, I looked him in the eye.  “Seriously, boy, you need to be direct.  Do it in person.  Look her in the eye.  Say, ‘Listen, for reasons I’ll go into later, this relationship is over.’  Then run like hell!”

 

Look at me.  Everything’s fuckin’ funny.  I sensed his pain.

 

“Okay, look, if you go into the reasons for the breakup, human nature is to negotiate.  You know, ‘please don’t break up with me.’  You can’t get into it, because you’ll lose, and then you’re in a vampire, zombie relationship, the walking dead, and it’s harder to do the second time.  It’s like killing a king.  Shoot to kill, not to wound.  If she wants reasons, four days or four weeks later you can give her a post mortem.  Not in person, on the phone.  If you ever get in the same room with someone you’ve broken up with, you can be a target of sexual manipulation.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“That’s a later lesson, son.  For now, remember, breaking up comes in two parts.  First, the notification.  This relationship is over.  I’m breaking up with you.  Then leave.  Or if you have to do it on the phone, hang up.  Session two is the reasons.  It has to happen after a week or a month, so the dismissed party has time to go over things in her head.  If she’s smart, she’ll already know the reasons.  If she’s a bully, that discussion will be to browbeat you into coming back to her.  No matter what, never go back to a girl you’ve broken up with.”

 

Wow, I thought.  If I’d followed these rules, this boy wouldn’t exist at all.

 

He did it on the phone, the two-part breakup.  It worked.

 

He’s sixteen now, and there have been no other girls.  I hope the experience didn’t sour him.  But in male-female relationships, it is better to be alone than dominated by a female who doesn’t love you, but merely uses you.