What My Situationship Taught Me About Love, Life and Keeping the Bullshit Offline

If 2016 was the year of realizing stuff, then I hope 2017 will be the year mankind (re)learns how to feel, heal, deal… So for the sake of getting better and not bitter, this single Pringle signed up for a not so noteworthy dating app. The goal was to get out of my signature “work is bae” vibe I tended to hide behind ever since my last break-up six months prior. But two weeks, numerous matches and a couple of very sexist one-liners later, I decided to delete the app. As much as I like to screen possible lovers, friends and benefits through vigorous Q&A’s, terrible dad-jokes and multiple GIFs, nothing beats a genuine conversation full of offline vibes.

Hips don’t lie, and neither do vibes

So insert P, a dark-haired, thirty-something mechanic, with a mischievous look in his eyes. He wondered around in my Facebook messages worrying about why I unmatched him on that previously mentioned but not so noteworthy dating-app. I told him I didn’t, and that I just deleted the whole thing. Then he wondered why I looked so familiar to him. Classic one, I know, and a classic red flag, but it turned out he legit was the cousin of a cousin of a dude I kinda, sorta,  knew. I don’t know, mutual doesn’t mean mutual anymore in this day and age. So since the world-wide web is a village and vibes don’t lie we texted back and forth until he finally convinced me to share an evening with him in the midst of all my work-duties.


The girlfriend experience

Again, vibes don’t lie, so that evening turned into a day. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. And every weekend we shared bad food over food of thought. The conversations moved from growing pains to future plans. From baby-names to discussing who’s the greatest rapper of all time. We agreed to disagree on both these topics (also known as red flag number two). We talked about past relationships, heartache and how sometimes, he’s afraid to end up alone. He showed me the cracks in his emotional walls and I played him songs to sooth his soul. (The full playlist which you can find here.) He complained about work while complimenting my art. I applauded him for finally getting rid of that horrible man-bun and he made it very clear that my butt looked bigger in the beige dress, so from now on, I should always wear the beige dress.

Online versus offline

But as intimacy grew the cracks in his emotional walls got bigger. And it ain’t always sunshine that peaks through. So while we continued to ignore all the feelings at play, P. sends me a screenshot of a text, paragraphs long. It was from his last girl, the one responsible for the mountain height of his emotional walls. How she heard through the grapevine that he moved on, with a girl that isn’t her, and that she now realises how they were meant to be. Needles to point out, that if you dump a dude twice, and he sorta, kinda, maybe is moving on 9 months later… you sorta, kinda, maybe lose all rights to any type of desperate “take me back or I will die in despair” comeback in my book. But since it’s none of my business whatever happened before me, I just went on and ordered pizza. Bad food over food for thought remember?


One woman’s demise shall never be my rise

Either way, P. ranted on about her player-schemes, her immature way of dealing with their break-up(s) and how she’s just “one of those girls who’s used to always getting her way”. I listened, but with every anecdote about how bad of a person this ex supposedly was, I got a bitter taste in my mouth. I confronted him about his need to air all her dirty laundry to me, do men really think that bashing one girl will make the next girl feel better? Well thank you for confirming that I have a “better” ass than her but that doesn’t give you the right to act like… well, an ass. I applaud honesty in all its forms, but if you’re that desperate in bringing someone down just to feel up, you care a little 3 much.

So I suggested he should go meet with her to talk things out and for “closure” or whatever. (Since she was texting half the family by now). Already knowing he would take her back one more time if she just begged hard enough. Male ego, so fragile, so easy to please. So that night he picked the cheese of his pizza (Also known as red flag number three.) and went home to think about it.


It ain’t over until the fat lady sings

It took two more weeks for him reinforcing his emotional walls but he went and talked to her. His ego got what it needed, she cried her eyes out and now they’re sorta, maybe, kinda dating. They post pictures together online and now I have to calm down like 5 homegirls offline since they are all plotting to paper towel his car. And how I’m feeling through all of this? Not sure, so I do what I do best… if I’m not sure if I feel it, I just write down how I see it. Let’s say that the past 4 months where rather interesting.

To quote one of the greats

But I also learned that I don’t need a title, not then, not now, not ever. But I can’t be bothered by a man who is unfaithful, not to me (‘cuz that I can handle), but to himself. Word is bond papi, so to end… here’s is one of my favorite quotes by one of my favorite rappers :  “I’m not saying females are perfect ’cause we all know that’s not true. But why be unfaithful to her if her heart was true to you?” If you can figure out who wrote this, and name at least 3 of his albums… by all means. Slide in my DM’s. This beige dress wearing cutie with a booty is out buying extra cheese.

Gladys Out 2.0.


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