What happens when the dreaded ex comes back into your best friend’s life – after you’ve spent a long time trash talking him. Do you be the voice of reason? Or support your friend for the better? A guest writer talks us through the eternal girl problem: ‘I’m losing my best friend to her ex-boyfriend.’
Nothing quite brings gals together like a messy breakup, a bottle of wine and a year’s worth of trauma dumping. But what happens when the subject of our numerous crying sessions rears his ugly head? When an ex returns, more often than not it’s the friends who get shut out. Maybe it’s because of the disappointment in our eyes or the love bubble that overcomes its victim. Or maybe, it’s because we know way more than we probably should. Either way, it’s tricky to navigate.
‘It’s round two for love – and the bestie takes the bench.’
I wouldn’t wish a break-up on my worst enemy. The physical pain in your chest, the tissue rash that forms around your nose, the heart-wrenching discography of Lana Del Rey on an ever-rotating loop in your head. But the light at the end of the tunnel, the one redeeming quality of a crying-in-the-foetal-position split is reconnecting with your gals.
It starts off like something out of a former Disney star’s first music video. Sleepover nights that see us braid each other’s hair, throw photographs into the fire and jump on the bed to Taylor Swift’s We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. Group cuddles become words of affirmation become large tubs of ice-cream shared among friends. It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it.
Then, like any Disney star’s descent into fame, the breakup healing becomes a bit more PG 13 (maybe R18 if he cheated) and my favourite part commences: when a woman scorned single-handedly takes down the male gender.
Short dresses, Hinge profiles, disgusting nights in Longroom, screaming confessions over too many espresso martinis while sitting on another man’s lap.
“He had a tiny penis”, “He didn’t make me come once”, “I’m pretty sure he’s gay for his best friend”, “One time he asked me to hold him like a big spoon and whisper that mommy loves him in his ear as he cried into his pillow.”
Shit can get weird. But man oh man, it’s the stuff I live for.
The next morning you’re bonded together forever in the name of sisterhood. You know things now that you can never unknow and you’ll take them to your grave. You have a deeper understanding of each other and the weird kinks your exes had (making for great dinner table chatter and inside jokes). You are platonic soulmates who will forever guard each other’s secrets and uplift one another in good times and bad.
And then the slimy fucker comes back.
The man whose name once conjured up fury and slurs arrives with a bouquet in hand, a tear in his eye and regret in his heart. A flurry of beautiful words, the promise of forever and an “I’m sorry” fuck later, it’s round two for love – and the bestie takes the bench.
As you watch the love story play out, experiencing a sense of infuriating deja vu mixed with an unexplainable sense of voyeurism, you realise that the group chat has dried up, the inside jokes have been silenced and you haven’t heard from your friend in weeks. And it dawns on you… you are now, in fact, enemy number one. Move over, small willy wanker.
You become villainised, not only for the things you said (I’ll admit, calling him ‘a walking butt plug’ wasn’t very nice) but the things you now know – and can’t unknow. The Saturdays that used to be spent at farmer’s markets, brunches and oracle card readers are now spent twiddling your thumbs and wondering why you feel like a bit of a soggy sandwich.
But that’s not even the worst part. The worst part is the conundrum: what is the right thing to do?
When it comes to girl code, there’s a number of staunch rules after a breakup. Never sleep with your bestie’s ex. Unfollow him and his friends immediately. Always remind her she’s a bad bitch who was way out of his league anyways.
But one thing girl code doesn’t cover is what to do when they go back.
Do you talk some sense into her? Remind her that he made her cry on her birthday? Show her his astrology birth chart and how incompatible they are (the stars say so)? Tell her that, despite modern day rom coms shoving the idea down our throats, there’s more to life than having a boyfriend?
Or do you take the high, albeit harder, road: do you support her no matter what?
The raging, manic, rejected part of me wanted take the first option and jam it so far up small peeny’s ass that he finally admits to liking the same sex. But, in my heart, I knew. If I wanted my friend back, if I respected her right to choose her own path and if I loved her unconditionally, I was going to have to take option number two. And so I did.
Of course, one cannot take the high road without some simple pleasures behind closed doors. Putting his face on a dart board? Completely acceptable. Naming your shits after him? Anyone would. Enlisting in a certified witchcraft course online, attending for three weeks and learning spells and hexes to shrink his member even more? Perhaps a bit delusional, but I’d let it slide.
And one thing brings me solace more than anything else: boys come and go. But, in the wise words of the Spice Girls, friendship never ends.
And besides, how long would you have sex with a small weenered man anyways? I give it a month, tops.
