It’s not me, it’s you

Illustrated by Carolyn Yip

Written by: Jennifer Low

Listen, we need to talk. I’ve kind of been feeling this way for a while and I didn’t know how to tell you, but enough is enough. I don’t think things are working out . . . with us. It’s not me — it’s you.

Let me just start off by saying that your Tinder profile was a picture of your dog. I fell in love with your dog . . . not you. In fact, of all the misleading things on your profile, of which there were definitely many, that picture of Rover was the cruelest.

Honestly, I should have known from our first date that you would be terrible to me. I think you paid more attention to that meatball on your plate than when I was opening up to you about how horrible my ex had been to me and the rest of my difficult past. When I was talking about the turmoil of my eighth-grade science project, I think you might have even yawned . . . although maybe you were just miming eating your stupid meatball. It hurt me so much, especially in retrospect, because throughout this relationship I have always listened to your problems and supported your interests.

In every relationship, there’s something that your partner does that annoys you. Some people are annoyed when their significant other plays video games, or works out at the gym too much, or studies more often than hanging out with them, but you? You collect pinecones. I barely even know how to react to that. Honestly, I can’t even count all the parks to which I willingly drove you so you could go and collect samples.

At first I thought it was cute how outdoorsy you were and how much you cared about the environment. But I barely saw you all autumn because you were too busy, and every time we did talk, all you did was talk about your pinecone collection. I tried to be supportive; I even went with you to that pinecone convention where there were only three people in attendance . . . including us.

When I discovered my passion for writing, you weren’t in the least bit supportive. When I completed my first manuscript, you never even read it. I know you don’t like to read, but I thought doing it for me would be the exception. Speaking of that manuscript, the whole time I was writing it, you refused to give me space. As soon as I got busy, you suddenly became so needy and insisted on texting me in five-minute intervals. Messages like: “What are you doing now?” and “Now?” flooded my inbox.

Maybe it was when I started to ignore them that you met someone else.

You could have at least had the decency to tell me about them in person. I still can’t believe I had to find out via your Snapchat Streak. At first, I thought it was an accident and that you would suddenly come clean to me, but it happened on seven separate occasions . . . featuring seven different people. My mother always hated you, and honestly, she was definitely right.

By the way, the other day when you saw me outside your house, I was only there to visit Rover. He is the only reason I still watch your Instagram story. We’re done.