“And suddenly you know. It’s time to start something new and trust the magic of beginnings.”
Last night I ventured back to my empty condo to pick up a few things so I can continue hiding out at my parents’ house for one more day. I dreaded this visit. Though Mr. B was not a full-time occupant of my humble abode, I had severe anxiety about finding traces of him poisoning my once peaceful sanctuary.
I unlocked the door and tentatively stepped in; breathing out a sigh of relief. It still felt like my home. It still brought me comfort to breathe in the old familiar smell.
I zipped around packing up the items I needed, when I came across a pile of laundry I had left on the dining room table (Note to future self: Invest in laundry basket). As I sifted through, I realized in horror that Mr. B’s clean socks were staring back at me. I suddenly remembered that I had offered to do Mr. B’s laundry during his stay.
I furiously picked out the offending items and shoved them off the table onto the floor:
Then a funny thing happened. I realized all of Mr. B’s socks were grey. My sobs slowly turned to laughter. Loud laughter. Uncontrollable laughter interrupted only by sporadic snorts. (Get in line, boys! This classy girl is single now.)
Why did the sight of the greys socks make me laugh, you ask? In the months leading up to our demise, Mr. B had started frequently commenting and complaining that I wear too much black and grey (they compliment my skin tone, dammit!). What started off as something Mr. B considered a cute quirk when we first met, slowly became something he was annoyed by:
Why do you always wear black yoga pants? Why don’t you try wearing a red dress? Are all your sweaters grey?
What I didn’t realize at the time was that these comments signified the beginning of a shift in Mr. B’s attitude and feelings towards me. It was the beginning of the end. I was no longer a bright and shiny new conquest; he knew he had me. He was bored.
What Mr. B didn’t appreciate – or care to notice – about me, is that I always wear brightly coloured socks. Hello Kitty socks. Polka dotted socks. Neon socks. Argyle socks. And they never match (ain’t nobody got time for that!).
Mr. B had his head too far up his own ass to love my colourfully adorned feet.
I want someone in my life who loves me for my monotone wardrobe; not despite it. Someone who takes the time to appreciate my ever-growing, mismatched sock collection.
This may be a far stretch for some as an “a-ha” moment. This may not even make sense to some of you. But realizing that underneath it all, Mr. B was just another guy wearing boring grey socks, marked the official turning point of my journey.
Current Status: eggs in my belly / cautiously optimistic / spooning my dog