(I have titled this post thusly for the pure, evil joy of knowing that at least one past boyfriend is reading my blog and probably jumped out of his skin when he read that.) (Sorry, hon.) (I’m laughing with you, honest!)
Break-ups tend to be messy things. I mean, here’s this person you’ve loved–for some period of time, at least–and now either you’re telling to them to get lost or they’re telling you they don’t love you anymore. No fun, either way. And even in the case of a “mutual” split, there’s nothing fun about parting ways with someone who used to make you feel pretty.
Then, perhaps, there’s the temptation to go back. He’s changed, you tell yourself. Or maybe I just didn’t give him a fair chance. Maybe things are different now that some time has passed. Deep in your heart of hearts, you know it’s a bad idea. But some past loves are hard habits to break. Up until now I have never split with someone only to reunite later; I’m pretty good at making a clean break. But this one guy is different. I know he’s bad for me but I still miss him, terribly. I have hoped against hope that things have changed, even though I know that’s not rational.
When times were good, they were the best. I spent money on him, he spent money on me. Being together was easy and effortless. I was organized and he helped me keep everything going smoothly. Likewise, he was always telling me what an asset I was to him. It was grand.
I don’t know when things started to fall apart. He stopped responding to me, somewhere along the line. There were promises broken, again and again. He was busy all the time. I dunno. I guess things like that happen, but it all started feeling like a lot of time and effort and money for nothing in return. Life’s too short for that, you know?
But lately, he’s been saying he wants me back, and I’ve been considering it. I know the pitfalls are there waiting for me, but I just keep thinking maybe this time it’ll be different.
Oh eBay, why do you torment me, so?
You know how he lured me in, right? First it was the amazing deals, the thrill of the hunt and the glory of the snipe and kill. Then before I knew it, I was selling, myself. Yes. It’s true. I want to tell the whole story! Pride be damned! So there I was, selling away, making a pretty penny off my kids’ outgrown clothes and such. I was living the American dream.
But I should’ve known it couldn’t last. The fees went up. Buying went down. And then–oh, God, it’s really hard for me to relive all this–there was that whole thing where suddenly the whole world had internet access, and suddenly it was like “Wow, who let all of these morons onto the internet?” Before I knew what had happened, the magic was gone.
I would list a SIZE 4 GYMBOREE DRESS LIKE NEW and he just stood there and watched as the emails came in, good lord, first it was “What size this dress is?” and then “if you should please this dress brand is for sale?” (huh?) and “I want to bid on this dress but is it in good shape?” and “Could you please mail me the measurements of this dress, neck to hem, shoulder to shoulder, waist to hem, wrist to ankle, nipple to butt cheek, and also count the polka dots because if there isn’t an even number our religion prevents us from wearing it?” There was just no end to the stupidity, and for what, I ask you?? So that my auctions could end just a few dollars above the starting bid, and then the buyers would either mysteriously vanish from the face of the earth or begin a steady stream of communication designed to drive me insane? (“Dear seller, I will be sending Paypal shortly” followed by “Dear seller, how do you sign up for Paypal?” continued with “Oh, I guess I can’t do Paypal then, how about I send you my gum wrapper collection?” and finally “Oh well you don’t have to be such a bitch about it, yes yes, auction terms, whatever lady, I’ll send you a money order whenever I feel like it. Maybe. Could you please mail my package out today?”)
I tried to work it out, for a while. I did. But my last batch of auctions, I had more non-paying bidders than people who followed through. So I ended it. No more, I said. And I walked away. It was liberating, in a sense.
Today I’ve been cleaning out closets. And yes, I very much enjoy my friendship with my local children’s consignment store, but it’s not the same. It doesn’t make my pulse quicken. The consignment store is fair, I suppose, given the middleman component… but the money is never as good. (On the other hand, I never get stiffed.) I filled several bags of items for the consignment store but I have a stack of high-quality, excellent condition, name-brand items that I’m considering–just considering–taking back to eBay.
It’ll be different this time. I know it will. Really.