In addition to now having the opportunity to meet a TGI Chilibee’s waitress, getting dumped is awesome. Here’s a list of perks to getting dumped:
You have way more free time to sit around and stare into space.
You can see what all the hype is behind prostitutes.
You don’t have to worry about if she’s fucking other guys because now you know she is.
You no longer have to lose sleep choosing the perfect metaphor to describe your undying love for her.
You don’t need to keep a laminated cheat sheet reminding yourself of all the things you should do to avoid pissing her off.
You no longer have to watch the Notebook, Love Actually, or Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants every weekend while listening to the question, “why can’t you be more like those guys?” Now you can watch those movies in peace.
You don’t have to pretend everything her best friend, Susan, says is a laugh riot.
Whenever you hear “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed you can change the station.
You can return that ring and tell the Westchester High marching band they don’t have to show up in front of the Statue of Liberty under the full moon next Saturday.
Masturbation takes way less time than begging for sex or getting your hopes up only to have them crushed by a mood swing.
When you’re in the bathroom you have other reading options besides “How to Please A Man” in Cosmo.
You can finally go back to wearing those oversized sweat pants with the hole over the crotch.
Your posture will improve as you won’t have to struggle to impress her so much.
You don’t have to keep re-watching Mallrats trying to figure out a way to win her back.
You can stop pretending you find yoga enlightening and enjoyable and just go back to your spin and pilates classes.
You can stop eating all those vegetables and get back to your hobby of growing chins.
You no longer have to spend hours choosing clever responses her to text messages or finding ways to incorporate a new smiley face into your g-chat conversations.
You can see what all the hype is behind prostitutes.
You don’t have to worry about if she’s fucking other guys because now you know she is.
You no longer have to lose sleep choosing the perfect metaphor to describe your undying love for her.
You don’t need to keep a laminated cheat sheet reminding yourself of all the things you should do to avoid pissing her off.
You no longer have to watch the Notebook, Love Actually, or Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants every weekend while listening to the question, “why can’t you be more like those guys?” Now you can watch those movies in peace.
You don’t have to pretend everything her best friend, Susan, says is a laugh riot.
Whenever you hear “With Arms Wide Open” by Creed you can change the station.
You can return that ring and tell the Westchester High marching band they don’t have to show up in front of the Statue of Liberty under the full moon next Saturday.
Masturbation takes way less time than begging for sex or getting your hopes up only to have them crushed by a mood swing.
When you’re in the bathroom you have other reading options besides “How to Please A Man” in Cosmo.
You can finally go back to wearing those oversized sweat pants with the hole over the crotch.
Your posture will improve as you won’t have to struggle to impress her so much.
You don’t have to keep re-watching Mallrats trying to figure out a way to win her back.
You can stop pretending you find yoga enlightening and enjoyable and just go back to your spin and pilates classes.
You can stop eating all those vegetables and get back to your hobby of growing chins.
You no longer have to spend hours choosing clever responses her to text messages or finding ways to incorporate a new smiley face into your g-chat conversations.
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