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November 20, 2005
The Six Stages of Grief
So after last week's email from NB, I spent the succeeding 6 days grieving the loss of my latest relationship. In fact, NB (New Boy) will now be referred to as OB (Old Boy). Or better yet, SOB (Stupid Old Boy, among other fitting descriptors).
Actually the sudden revelation that I would no longer be getting any action wasn't so bad, and I went through the first 5 stages of grief within 2 hours:
The first stage is denial.
This email was not a "break-up" email, but merely NB expressing frustration over his recently busy schedule. I am actually glad that he has the initiative and courage to bring up these potentially problematic issues in our relationship so that we can deal with them in a healthy way and move forward.
Next comes anger or resentment.
How DARE he deliver this message BY EMAIL? I will find him and make him suffer calamities he will forevermore reference with cowering and open weeping.
The third stage is bargaining.
Actually, maybe he has a point. Maybe it's time that I changed my priorities in life. I could be the type of girlfriend he wants. I could be happy as a waifish, little prat. Yes, I'll write him back and explain how I can--really--be the girl of his dreams.
The fourth stage is depression.
Oh screw it. I'm going to be alone forever. My sister--who has already claimed the "best daughter" title by procreating--is going to beat me in the marriage race too. I should just accept that I am a hideous monster to whom no man will ever want to commit.
Finally comes acceptance.
Hmm, I guess it's over. The important thing is that, NO MATTER WHAT, I act in a way that will make me proud in 10 years. Dignity is my watchword.
With that emotional rollercoaster behind me, I embarked on the 6th--and arguably most important--stage of grieving:
RETAIL THERAPY
Ignore The Guardian, and The Sydney Morning Herald--who will tell you that retail therapy causes as many problems as it solves. When it comes to relationship fizzles, nothing beats a trip (or seven) to the mall. I believe I have documented such experiences in detail (in fact, in my first ever blog entry).
Although there has been little scientific analysis of the retail therapy phenomenon (other than to link it to obesity, bastards), I figure there are two general options:
1) The number of trips to a retail establishment are what counts (or, in fancy "scientific terms", positively correlated with improved spirts).
2) The amount of money spent (regardless of number of trips) is what counts.
There are probably an infinite number of variations on these two options (maybe it's the number of things you buy--regardless of how much they cost), or the number of "shopping" trips taken (i.e. one trip to Target counts the same as a trip to the mall with visits to 13 stores). My point is this:
No matter how you measure it, I should now by the happiest woman on the planet.
And it's lucky that NB--I mean SOB--is nowhere to be seen. Of the five new pairs of shoes I own, at least four of them would put me several inches over his head.
(Oops, temporarily reverting back to Stage 2.)
Comments
Congrats on your respectable quick progression! I am currently lividly in stage 2 with my brother-in-law. Does it count as stage 5 if I have accepted that I definitely want him out of my sister's life forever? Unfortunately, I think she went through all the stages to stage 4, and now she's starting to go through them backward again (she hasn't glimpsed acceptance yet) *sigh*
Posted by: Red at November 21, 2005 08:17 AM
I agree with congratulations on taking the hight road, and according to the WPost, retail therapy is not only good for you, it's good for the economy.
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2005/11/18/AR2005111802436.html
Posted by: Elizabeth at November 21, 2005 02:33 PM
I think we can be honest and say that YOU were the favorite daughter for a good 24 years before we were both eclipsed and the favorite daughter award was replaced with the favorite grandchild award, making me the only daughter to never have an award at all. If anyone should be bitter, it's me.
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