When we first met, I thought that Brittany and I were a match made in heaven. The timing seemed so right. I had just come through a very painful and ugly period in my life. I had been out of control and had done some bad things; even broken some laws. What I really needed was someone that I could trust.

That was my Brittany. She herself was recently divorced, weakened from a long, loveless marriage that had slowly debilitated her spirit. But this former relationship had also strengthened her commitment to stability. It seemed that the fates had brought us together.

The first years of our relationship seemed like true love. Our jobs and social lives, while different, were remarkably compatible. We shared many of the same friends, which made the arrangement even easier. But as the years went on I started to notice little things that bothered me about Brittany. The way that she wouldn’t ever pick up the check. Her unfair demands and double standards in regards to how we could spend our “free” time.


I tried my best to accommodate these idiosyncrasies. But after some years I started to have a sneaking suspicion that I was always going to be the one in the relationship doing all the “giving”. Honestly, her constant complaining was driving me nuts.

Then, last week, Brittany decided to end our relationship. It came as a bit of a shock, although the writing had been on the wall for some time. We parted amicably enough and promised to remain friends, both knowing that this won’t happen. I suspect that she is secretly hoping that her leaving will crush me.

I suppose that I should be sad, but I’m not. Actually, I’m looking forward to tomorrow.