Why Do I Need An Excuse To Break Up?

I need to prepare my case before trial.

I’m irritated. Why? Because of a guy.

For months I’ve bitched about my relationship with Thomas. It started wonderfully. Then it eroded when his separated wife moved back in with him, he didn’t file for divorce, and the truth of his shitty finances came to light. He’s in his forties with an SUV worth more than his annual salary but doesn’t own a home.

Unfortunately, Thomas is the best sex of my life. It’s compelling after almost two decades in a dead bedroom marriage and a series of one-night stands.

He fell in love with me and pushed to be my boyfriend. I finally snapped and told him I’m not the problem, he is. I’m not making a married man be my boyfriend, nor am I going to date someone who should focus more on his career path to increase his income and less on throwing money at a fancy Jeep.

I don’t need a guy who makes bank. But I can’t date a guy who makes half my salary and doesn’t realize that he’s low income (according to the U.S. Housing and Urban Development) because he’s renting a ghetto condo for an absurdly low rent. At least have the goal of making enough to afford a place without a rape-bait alley for parking.

The tipping point came over Valentine’s Day. Worst. Valentine’s. Day. Ever. Thomas thinks he did exceptionally well by “spoiling” (his words, not mine) an anti-nature, anti-camping, anti-chaos female date by taking her up to the mountains in his Jeep. I spent hours bouncing around, my head smacking against the door and roof, bracing myself as best I could, my ears begging for mercy at his stupid loud music (I tried turning it down but it would end up being turned high again), and without cell service to distract me.

I loathe when someone gifts something that they like, not what the recipient would enjoy.

After that day, I wrote Thomas a letter telling him that since we met, I’ve hustled like a mofo to change my life around. And unlike him, I did it all while playing at-home teacher and childcare provider while working my real job during a pandemic. I noted all the side hustles I did that kept me up until 3 am because I wasn’t fucking around when it came to moving my life forward with the divorce and buying a house.

What has he done in 8 months? Nothing. No change in his marital situation. No change in his career situation. I can’t date a guy who still hosts parties with his not-ex-wife. I can’t date a guy who spent an entire day griping over a forty-dollar parking ticket because it heavily impacts his finances. Maybe stop hosting parties and focus on your finances, bro.

Scared with my threat that I’m dating others, Thomas asked if he filed for divorce within 30 days, would it suffice to keep me around. I agreed.

Spoiler alert: it’s been a month and a day over his deadline with no change.

I’m done. He’s not the guy for me. But I need an excuse.

Thomas’ lack of divorce filing is my perfect out.

I won’t see Thomas for four more days. This is important to note because if he files for divorce in the next four days, then I lose my excuse to be angry and end things.

Via text, I ask him where we’re going on our next date. Typically, if we go out, it’s for happy hour (insert his rant that the not-ex-wife is useless at putting their daughter to bed so he can’t be out late). Thomas suggests an expensive steak house.

I mention the parking is garbage in that lot and he replies that he wants to take me somewhere fancy for dinner.

“Wait, are we doing dinner? I thought we were just getting drinks as usual,” I text him while annoyed as fuck.

“I want to treat you somewhere nice. Seems like a good time to try and make you feel special,” he replies.

My blood begins to boil. I gently tell him a steak house is wasted on someone like me who is borderline vegetarian and will only eat the mashed potatoes.

Thomas replies that he has no problems if all I want to order is mashed potatoes, he couldn’t care less because he adores me. Nah dude, if a chick says that she’s not going to eat anything off of a menu except for a small side listed on the bottom, you’re not a hero for telling her she’s welcome to eat just that because he wants her to feel special. Maybe ask her where she’d like to go. Maybe ask her what cuisine she likes. Maybe take her anywhere where she won’t end up eating a $19.99 small bowl of potatoes for dinner.

In my continuation of being a wet blanket, I tell him that if he’s taking me to a fancy dinner, perhaps he should tell me that he’s taking me to a fancy dinner. Since I thought it was just drinks during a Tuesday happy hour, I planned on casual jeans and a tank top. Thomas was planning a romantic, classy dinner without telling me there would be dinner or class.

I need to end this. But I don’t feel like I’m allowed to say, “I’m just not feeling it anymore”. I need a valid excuse to bail out of this situationship.

Here’s my strategy:

While sipping wine, I’ll ask about the divorce filing. Thomas will give me an excuse for why it’s not done yet. That’s when I tell him that I look like an idiot repeatedly saying that I’d like a serious relationship but I can’t while he’s married. He’s the one who kept saying he’d handle it, right down to a thirty-day deadline. That’s on him for not following through on his promise, even if it’s a few days over.

The ensuing heated discussion plays in my mind like a movie. Thomas will tell me that I’m right and that he’s going to do it that week. I’ll tell him that it’s too late, there are only so many times I can keep hearing that line. I’ll remind him that I made a “requirements list” for any guy I date and I broke my own rules to make him yet another exception.

Before I get in my car, I may get snarky with “if you want someone to feel special, maybe following through on your promises and deadlines is a good start.”

This relationship-breakup legal strategy hinges on the lack of filing. If he tells me he did file and was waiting to tell me, I’ll still tell him it’s over. Because Thomas will want praise for doing the bare minimum. My days of giving an “atta boy” pat on the back for men doing basic requirements are over.

It’s a weak argument. I need him to not file for divorce between now and Tuesday. Which itself is a reason to break up with someone; you’re crossing your fingers they’ll give you the perfect excuse to end the relationship.

As I sit here stewing over an imaginary future conversation, Thomas sends me random texts of affection. I need to chill out with bitchiness to the poor guy.

He texts me about his evening with his daughter and that “she just ate a booger”.

Geezus fuck. I have to break up with this guy, stat. One more text like that and I’ll gauge my eyes with a knife pulled from a Mastro’s steak.