Are you entangled in a warm, fuzzy Care Bear of a relationship right now, where the mere thought of one another is enough to make both your hearts glow and your stomachs tie themselves up in candy-coated knots? Hold on to that feeling, friends, because it's not going to last. Face it: your relationship is inevitably doomed! Doomed to end up in the same kind of bitter acrimony you can read about below.
I was going out with this girl for a good year or so. We were 16, so I didn't want it to be serious, but she did, so I ended it. Little did I know that every day of the next year of my life would be plagued by her psychopathy.
First came the pleading texts, promising that she'd cool off. When I ignored those, the texts started to get angry, then the missed calls started coming in, then the volume of texts began to increase. A month after we'd broken up, I was getting, on average, 35 texts and 70 missed calls from her every single day. The worst thing about it was that I was addicted to Snake II at the time, and I'd have to constantly pause my games to ignore her texts and calls. Nightmare.
This continued for so long it became normality. If I didn't wake up with ten missed calls and a couple of texts about how I was "such a fucking scumbag dickhead", I started to get a bit worried that she'd hurt herself. I normally deleted every text without reading it, but about eight months into the ordeal, one caught my eye. It read, "You hurt me so I'm going to hurt you. I'm coming to your school tomorrow to tell your headmaster that you've been drinking and smoking weed at school and you're going to get expelled."
I assumed it was an empty threat, but sure enough, the next day, people started running up to me, telling me that they had seen her wandering around, asking everyone where I was. I wanted to avoid the public screaming match, so I hid in the boot of my friend's car and he drove us both to the nearest town. From there, I called the police and told them she'd been harassing me for the last year. After that, I never heard from her again. I hope you're happy now, Avril!
THE CELLAR SHARE
My friend had been happily married for seven years. Her husband worked in the city and she looked after their kids and dog. Everything was swell. Then she found out he had been cheating on her for the last six months with his assistant. Literally the most cliched thing ever, I know, but I guess the whole reason cliches become cliches is because they happen so often.
Anyway, the scumbag husband was an avid wine collector – he had a fully-stocked cellar and bored everyone at dinner parties with monologues about where he'd bought the wine, why he'd bought the wine, why he'd chosen it to suit the dish. I didn't listen, because it was dull as shit, so I know nothing about wine or how much the combined contents of the cellar cost. But he spoke about something called "Soave" a lot. I think it was expensive stuff.
Anyway, when my friend heard that she'd been cheated on, she immediately packed her bags, sent her kids and the dog to her sister's house and spent the rest of the day driving around town, leaving a bottle of her husband's wine on every doorstep.
I guess the moral is: don't be a boring wine snob and cheat on your wife, it won't end well.
DING DONG DITCH HIM
So, I'd been seeing this guy for maybe two months. He was nice and everything, but definitely more into me than I was him and I didn't want to string him along, so I told him it was over. Everything seemed fine. He took it pretty well, and we arranged to meet up for coffee the next week – pretty smooth sailing compared to some of the break-ups I'd had in the past.
A few days after I called it off, I started getting doorbell-dashed, but I assumed it was just kids from the area. I lived near a Co-Op at the time, where a bunch of 14-year-olds would hang out, drinking cheap cider and setting off firecrackers. The next night, it happened again, then I got a call from my ex almost straight after, saying he had just happened to be walking right past my house and seen someone ringing my doorbell and running away. Oh, and did I want some company? I knew instantly what was happening, so questioned him and he got all pissed off, ranting at me about he was only trying to help. The next night, it happened again. I looked out my window and saw him skulking away from the door to hide behind some cars, so I called him, told him coffee was off and that he needed to leave me alone.
Later that night, I got a call from my friend, telling me that the guy had put a naked picture of me on Facebook. Obviously I wasn't best pleased, so I called him up, put my best demon-bitch voice on and let loose. I could almost hear his balls shrivel up.
In college, I was having a live-in relationship with a first-class arsehole, but I excused his behaviour because I was so desperately in love with him. One night, he was showing me something on his phone, when a message popped up from a girl named Megan that said "I had fun last night ;)". I pressed him on where they'd "had fun" and found out it was in our shared bed, multiple times, while I was out working to pay my half of the rent.
I flipped my shit, grabbed my cat and sobbed myself all the way to my friend Sarah's house. Sarah is kind of crazy. Usually a harmless kind of crazy – like, one day, she thought it would be funny to mail me a dead frog in a Crayola box – but in this case, she was even more hell-bent on revenge than I was.
I set a day to go round and pick up my stuff and Sarah drove me there with this weird look in her eye, like she was ready to fuck shit up. She must have a thing about frogs, because when we arrived, the first thing she made me do was collect as many frogs as I could from the ponds surrounding his house and bring them inside. By the end of the search, I'd rounded up about 25 frogs, all of which we put in his laundry room. While I'd been outside, Sarah had been in the kitchen, drawing dicks over EVERYTHING. The fridge, the stove, the floor, the ceiling – everything. We then blocked his sink with Play-Doh, added laxatives to his protein powder, soaked towels in milk and left them behind his radiators, reset his voicemail as the sound from a gay porno (the guy was super homophobic), peed in all four corners of his room and farted on all his pillows in an effort to induce pink-eye.
As we left, I stapled a piece of paper to his door that read, "Hope you had fun last night" with a little, winky smiley face underneath. I think I scared him shitless, because I haven't seen him or heard a peep from him since.