How To Deal With Breakup As An Alpha Male.
The Gospel According to St. Andrew says: you are a king. You have no chemical in your neurotic engineering responsible for weak emotions like love and jealousy. So this is how your relationship with Cindy will play out.
You and Cindy will be emotionally (and amorously) entangled. Cindy is the chick all your friends will call “our wife”. The one who will cook jollof rice and serve all of them personally and clear the dishes when they’re done eating. You’re the chadest chad in the room; the alpha-est male in a pool of other alphas. You bench 100kg at the gym and hunt your own breakfast. Like real men do, you will be bunking nine other women within a 10-mile radius of your apartment. You are contemplating starting your own podcast.
One day, Cindy, having been exposed to too much feminist content on Twitter, will decide she’s done with your shit and ask for a break. You’re too cool to beg, so you will play it smoothly. You will tell her it’s alright.
One week after Cindy leaves you, she will start moving around with a guy leaner than you are. Like real homies do, we will derisively christen him Leanbottom. Like real homies do, we will slip the gossip by you, but we will not expect you to care because you’re not the sort of guy to get bothered by that. You’re better than any guy Cindy will decide to rebound with, right? Right.
She’s just playing it out, you will tell us. It’s a game that women play, you will say, with that smug confidence you wear so princely. She just wants to keep you on your toes so you can come begging. It’s an old trick. It’s beneath you. You have it under control.
We will believe you. But we will beg you to consider reaching out since you were the asshole (but we will say this in a more user-friendly language.)
You will put your large hands around us and say, “she will come back begging when her trick doesn’t work.”
We will believe that too.
Moreover, you will say, Ngozi from Accountancy is coming to sleep over tonight so Cindy can piss off.
We call you the Chief. You will wear that George Clooney smirk. The heavens will shiver at the frost of your coolness.
Four days later, we will meet at the Football Viewing House. We will be in the middle of a profound conversation about the correct pronunciation of Kvaratskhelia and then you will say, real randomly, “Cindy still thinks I’ll call her.” Then you will shake your head and add, “she’s in for a shocker if she thinks I’ll reach out to her first.”
“You miss her?” We will ask you.
“Me? Miss her? I don’t think you know who I am.” You’re defiant. We will reaffirm the strength of your resolve. You will smile, satisfied.
Two days later, I will catch you scrolling through your old chats with Cindy, shaking your head. I know I should pretend to not see you doing this and mind my own business. But as a good friend, I will not.
“Has Cindy called you yet?”
“Oh no. You know girls. So full of childish pride. I don’t even have time for her and her shenanigans right now. Lucy is coming over tonight so I’m good.”
You will have trouble spending the night alone, and for the next couple of weeks, you will spread more kitties open than a gynaecologist. If you weren’t you, I would assume this was a manifestation of abandonment issues but that is beneath you. You will post a lot of tweets about being a High-value Man and will implore your fellow wiener-wielders to rededicate their lives on the sacred altar of masculinity.
My birthday will come and I will invite everyone and tell them to invite everyone. You will be there with everyone else in the squad. You bring along one of the chicks you found laying around when Cindy left you. Cindy, too, will saunter in with the new guy she’s been frolicking with.
You dey OK? I will ask you.
Sure I dey alright, you will tell me.
But I will see you from the corner of my eyes drinking more wine than usual. Suddenly, you will not be socializing as much as you used to. You will be engrossed in your phone and you will refuse to look up. The lady you came with will nag you to liven up, but instead, you will shrink and shrink into yourself.
Meanwhile, Cindy will be floating here and there with a deliberate flamboyance, while clinging to Mr Newman like he’s the air she breathes.
I will take you aside and ask, Has Cindy not reached out to beg?
You will hiss and say, she’s just showing off to piss you off. But you will reassure me that you are unaffected by this, even though your eyes are now red and there’s a conspicuous vein slanting across your forehead.
Food will be served but you won’t be able to eat much. Cindy will come and say her goodbyes and disappear into the cozy night with Mr Newman Leanbottom. I will slide by you and inform you thus:
“Cindy and Leanbottom have gone. I wonder what they will be doing with themselves on this cold night.”
You will pause, as if contemplating what I just told you. Then suddenly, you will look into my eyes and start: Victor, why would you say such a thing?
“I don’t understand,” I will say on the sly.
“Why would you have such a disgusting idea about Cindy and another man? How can you insinuate that she’s that type of woman who will go around shagging just anyone she sees?” You will be raising your voice now.
“Calm down, I was just joking!”
“NO DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN. DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN. YOU HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH TOO MUCH! REMEMBER HOW BACK IN 2011 YOU BEAT ME ON FIFA AND WOULDN’T SHUT UP ABOUT IT? EVER WONDERED HOW THAT MADE ME FEEL?!”
At this point, you will be literally crying. You will feel the last shred of masculinity leaving you, but you will not be able to stop it. Your exorcism has been set in motion, and you have not enough grit to even halt it. So your breakdown will continue.
“THE OTHER DAY I BOUGHT YOU LUNCH! WHAT HAVE YOU EVER DONE FOR ME? HUH? THIS IS THE TYPE OF SHIT THAT MADE MY DAD LEAVE THE HOUSE AND NEVER CAME BACK!”
At this point, you will be bawling — tears and catarrh pouring out in an uncoordinated sequence. Then, without any physical effort from me, you will collapse on my shoulder, and I will endure the stench of your alcohol-laden breath long enough for you to finish.
Later that night, you will stay awake, stewing in the discomfort of yet another meaningless fuck. Totally not meaning to text Cindy, you will be mindlessly swiping through WhatsApp when your thumbs will by themselves open your archived chats, open Cindy’s chat and by themselves, type “Hey. Been a while. Just checking on you. Take care.”
I don’t know whether or not you will get another chance, but this is how you will tell the rest of the story: That you let her go even when she begged to stay.
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I have a short story out on Lolwe. You can read it here.
@Good_pikin is my IG handle.
