Plucking the Eyebrows Of Your Soul

Everyone has different ways of dealing with a breakup.

For some people it is best to clam up and pray that no one asks you how your life of committed bliss is going, because all you can say is that the aforementioned bliss was snatched from you like your left arm, and all you can think of is cliché analogies like losing your left arm.

For others, like me, you feel like a giant version of those crafty boards they make in relief society that says “ Just dumped” is nailed to your forehead, and that every random stranger you happen to run into knows exactly what happened and their eyes are like giant tweezers plucking the eyebrows of your soul.

 

My parents used to have one of these, except it was illustrated by geese....what is with Mormon's and decorating with winged animals, chickens, geese, ect...

Obviously the only thing to do in this situation is let the world know before they can make assumptions.

“Oh, Hi, how are you” says the cashier at Broulim’s

“I got dumped”

“Oh…uh well that’s too bad”

That poor unfortunate subordinate of the Broulims Empire was just looking for a non-committal “good” But woah no, you can not provide that due to the fact that your heart just got ripped out like it was a stuffed animal in one of those vending machines where you use the giant claw to grab that special teddy bear. Until the claw decides the teddy bear isn’t that special and you end up trapped in dust mite infested vending–machine-single-life forever. 

 Yep, that is what it's like

Now, not only are you single, but you are a wack job who spouts off intimate details to random strangers.

Being dumped at BYU-Idaho is worse than being dumped anywhere else in the world. BYU-Idaho is the NFL of dating, the major leagues.

Although many claim to be dating “for fun” we all know you have alternative celestial motives, don’t kid yourself.

You go on a first date. It’s fine. You go on a second date, now your roommates are asking about him. Third date, now your mom knows. Fourth date, could mean potential eternal bliss. Now you are in an actual relationship with a song, and intertwined digits, and personalized ring tones. How can you help but start to think that this one might make it to the finish line. 

 

Yep, also what it's like.

And when it doesn’t, devastation is inevitable.

All you want to do is force that left arm to sew itself back to you, until you realize that a limbless life is just something you are going to have to accept for a while.

Look at the bright side. You could get really good at one armed pushups, being ambidextrous, and awkward side hugs, which is perfect because those awkward side hugs are the best you are going to get for a while.

 

Plastic love is platonic.