Ed. Note: today’s post was fully inspired by what I found in my Facebook News Feed thanks to The Atlantic (which granted, is probably where I get way too much of my news these days. But I’m expanding to the Pop Culture Happy Hour – promise).
For Thanksgiving Break my senior year of college, I had huge plans: auditioning for a drum corps (which one might also call a professional marching band, if a band that only plays in the summers and for other bandos is what one deems professional). The boy I was seeing – the one I’d known for years and called me “Pigtails,” the one who looked an awful lot like the lead singer of Weezer, the one who was living in my home town – did not break up with me during the 36 hours we had together (in between family dinner).
Instead, we made plans for Winter Break, watched my first episode of Seinfeld (The Soup Nazi one, as no young adult should be without that cultural reference), and when I said goodbye to his mom, she teared up.
In short: I’ve never been Turkey Dropped. But I have been broken up with in that 30 days between Thanksgiving and Christmas on more than one occasion. The Between Holiday Drop?
That same Weezer-lookalike wanted to meet in a parking lot the first night of Winter Break. I knew it was coming – he’d stopped “L-bombing” me two weeks prior. Still though, standing between my trusty and reliable Toyota Camry and his trust and reliable Honda Accord, an abandoned grocery store the backdrop, he made his awkward “I don’t want to date anymore,” speech.
Three years later, in that ellipsis between T-day and C-day, I had just finished grad school and was dating a guy I’d crushed on as a teenager. He broke up with me while I was very drunk but giving the allusion of sobriety (I’d showered). Given the fact that our relationship was punctuated by boozy moments, this shouldn’t have been a surprise. (Exhibit A: we reconnected after drinking wine from paper cups at a party. Exhibit B: Thanksgiving was spent with an unimaginable amount of homemade tequila sunrises. Exhibit C: the camping trip in which I got drunk for the very first time, and had a hangover the next day for the very first time, in which he patted my hair while I had a panic attack about my state of being. Exhibit D: the first beer I ever enjoyed was with him in his backyard on a 100-degree day. Exhibit E: you get the idea.) I kept the Christmas gift I’d already bought him – that penguin lamp now resides on top of my refrigerator.
Of course, last year there was Adam – though admittedly, his actual “I don’t want to do this” speech was delivered on New Year’s Eve, he had also stood me up for a date to the movies on Christmas Day. We’ll give him an honorable mention for the ‘Tween Drop.
Ugh, that’s a horrible name. Turkey Drop sounds so cute. Any suggestions for what to call the breakup that occurs between holidays?
On a positive note…none of these guys acted like complete turkeys about their breakups – I mean, they told me in person, witnessed the emotional response, and owned up to their feelings. And for that, I give them a lot of credit.