Letters from Home

Old Boyfriends Die Hard

Or… How to Not Feel Bad When an Ex Won’t Friend you On Facebook

Here’s the story about a really OLD boyfriend of mine (a-long-time-ago OLD, not practically-dead OLD) that I think most of you will like. It’s kinda long, but I don’t think bullet points are appropriate, so suck it up.

His name isn’t “Bob” but lets call him that so he won’t be embarrassed. BOB was an older man, and editor (!) when I met him at the IOWA STATE DAILY. I adored him.

Bob and I dated for a few wonderful, whirlwind weeks. He was VERY sweet and romantic. I started to get the idea that he wasn’t very experienced and hadn’t had many girlfriend before me, but I didn’t care. I mean, that was true for me too! I was as naive as they come.

I didn’t cheat on Bob, but I guess sometning happened that made him think I did. The week before Bob and I started dating, I was hanging around with another guy, kinda a loser. Since it was college, there was drinking and fooling around involved. Nothing major, but enough to get a little messy for me. I was clueless, until it came up with Bob and I.

Poor Bob. He was scandalized, broken-hearted, pissed as HELL. I not sure now whether he thought I cheated, or if a little minor humiliation was that debilitating to him. Either way, I was dead to him.

We still had to see each other everyday at the paper. Fortunately, he was senior so he only had to practice the silent treatment on meĀ  for about 5 more months. It must have been exhausting for him. As for me, by the time I’d finished my round of doxycycline, frankly, I was kinda over him. I mean, after all, I was 20 and most 20-year-olds don’t have a very long attention span for that sort of thing.

Anyway, life goes on. Bob goes on to become a moderately successful professional journalist. I occasionally hear from him through friends and other grapevines. I go on to become, well, whatever it is that I am. Me, in training.

Fast forward to 2008. The Facebook Years. Suddenly the Gang at the Daily has virtually reconvened. We have coffee together just about everyday, and we’re sharing all sorts of curious tidbits of the lost years by means of Status Updates and Scanned photos.

Bob is there too. But he won’t be my friend. I’ve asked. I’ve goaded. I’ve cajoled. He’s Ignored.

It is, in fact, 18 years later, and the silent treatment is continuing.

The sum total of my time dating Bob was about four weeks, if I recall correctly. I’ve never considered myself to be much of a heartbreaker. I mean seriously, I was ALWAYS the one who got dumped or left in the dust in my many sad and pathetic relationships that followed after Bob.

But now I am kinda wondering–maybe the string of bad men was karmic retribution for the hellish damage I must have obviously caused poor Bob. Maybe he’s got some kind of green-eyed voodoo doll with curly hair and no sense of style with pins stuck in it on his mantle.

It’s the odd stuff of Facebook that catches up with you– like bad superstitions that should be left in the Daily archives.

One thought on “Old Boyfriends Die Hard

  1. I do and always will think of you as a heartbreaker!!!! We HAVE to think of ourselves that way, otherwise who will??? Lo
    ve ya my pinching sister!!!

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