Denial is when you cannot believe that he won't return your text. You imagine that that he got busy at work and you still have plans for this Saturday night. The fact that he may be dumping you nags at you like a little paper cut, but you refuse to give your attention to the possibility. After sleeping with your cell phone beneath your pillow and consulting your girlfriends over every word, moment, and gesture of the last date and he still had not called or texted, you are convinced he has been in an accident and is lying in a ditch somewhere. You call local hospitals but no one with his name has been admitted. Should you form a chick posse to search for the body? Then a “friend” calls to say she saw him last night canoodling with someone younger/bustier/blonder (take your pick) than you. Now you hope he HAS been in an accident and IS lying in a ditch somewhere.
Anger is when you feel like you are about to explode and your head is going into a 360 degree reverse spin over this boy now known a #&%##@!! He and girl-who-is-younger/bustier/blonder-(take-your-pick)-than-you deserve each other. You want to scratch that lacy tattoo above her butt crack off with your freshly manicured claws. You and your girlfriends spend hours composing the perfect scathing text message to give him what-for he will never forget. He is an ass and you are a fool and someday, SOMEDAY, he will be sorry for hurting the sexiest, smartest, wittiest woman he will ever have. You want #&%##@!! to suffer and suffer bad. Only a hard core workout at Bally’s Fitness can diffuse this screaming rage.
Bargaining is when you decide to consider thinking about the possibility of maybe perhaps giving him another chance. You ask him over for a Grey Goose apple Martini to talk. “About what?” He wants to know. “About us,” you text back. “What about us?” He texts. You tell him that maybe perhaps you sent that scathing what-for text message that he would never forget a bit too soon. Let’s try again, but this time we won’t be exclusive/will be exclusive/won’t swing with married Long Island couples (take your pick). He declines to talk and tells you he still loves you but is not IN LOVE with you. As you roll your tear-stung eyes, you ask how he came up with such an original line. He tells you his new girlfriend suggested it.
Depression is when you burrow beneath your feather duvet and decline to check your messages and emails or shave your legs and pits until your BFF has the super open your door his passkey. She follows the pathetic weeping sounds and locates your still body. You hear BFF yell, “she’s alive! Praise be to God, she lives!!!” You know that you are not alive, you will never be alive again, but you are too exhausted to correct her. Strong hunky super carries your duvet wrapped body into the kitchen where BFF spoonfeeds you a pint of Haagen Dazs Rocky Road. Soon, you begin to feel the life force creeping into your veins.
Acceptance is when you have come to get into agreement that #&%##@!! has moved on and you should too. When BFF invites you to a party, your first reaction is “NO! NEVER!! I shall never have fun with boys ever again, not even on President’s Day.” But then you think, “Wait, why not?” And you go. And you have fun. Then you go to another soiree and you smile and flirt. Men call you a goddess and live to serve you. Oh sure, you think about #&%##@!! from time to time. You hear from mutual friends that he knows what a mistake he made letting you go and has fallen into a depression over his loss. You just laugh, “Ha, ha, ha-ha.” You are dating the super. He is hot. You have ascended to acceptance and life is good.