A man is not worth crying for after he dumps you by SMS

The best thing to do after a break-up is to act like a lady, by walking away gracefully. Photo| FIle

What you need to know:

  • Before he dumped me, it was the typical Sunday afternoons after church. I was hungry but did not feel like cooking (I never like cooking), and so I decided to eat out.
  • If you are married to a journalist, dating one or you are a friend to one, expect them to write about you at some point. It is nothing personal; it’s just how journalists work.

The text message came on Sunday, May 10, at 8:13pm and it read, “No. Consider this relationship over.” I was in my house, minutes after yanking a neighbour’s cat from my kitchen and mercilessly tossing it five floors down.

I read the message and realised my boyfriend had just dumped me via SMS. How heartless can a man be?

I was shocked and seethed with rage. I was a little amused that this ‘riffraff’ I had honoured with the pleasure of dating me had decided to dump me a week after I had told my aunt to inform my mother that maybe he could be the “one”.

I had to immediately call my aunt and ask her not to inform my mother. Luckily, she was still looking for the opportune time.

I stood in my kitchen rooted at one spot like a tree. Then I replied him, “OK!”.

Sorry, I am lying. The truth is I sent him a torrent of unprintable insults that I am sure hurt him. All I remember is that I typed them fast and furious.

After I was satisfied that the damage was enough, I walked into my sitting room and sank into my couch as I cursed the fool. But then, his action got me reflecting on why he had dumped me via text message, yet we had many glorious moments.

Two hours earlier…

Before he dumped me, it was the typical Sunday afternoons after church. I was hungry but did not feel like cooking (I never like cooking), and so I decided to eat out.

The plan was simple. To meet him in town after church for lunch at exactly 3pm, have ice-cream, then go wash my car, and bid him bye until Friday.

To be honest, I completely hated this mundane itinerary for Sundays that had been our norm for the past two months. I shrugged when I picked up his call, asking me to meet him at a joint on Kimathi Street.

When I got to town, another friend called me and asked what I was up to. I blurted out, “Nothing”. “Great, then can you accompany me to a friend’s bash in 20 minutes?” my friend asked. “Sure, I am free,” I replied. I took the next turn and headed towards Ngong Road, to a livelier, more interesting company.

I lied to my boyfriend that I was running late, that I would be there in half-an-hour. Half-an-hour came and went, and I was forced to tell a familiar lie. ‘There’s a major snarl-up on Thika Road, I will be there by 5pm,” I texted him. He replied, “OK, moved to XX bar for a drink.”

At 6pm, he called. I did not pick up the call. At 7pm, the bash ended. With my tail between my legs, I texted, “Hi there. So sorry! Imagine I got stuck in traffic, my car had a puncture and now I am on my way. Dinner at 8pm?”

At 8:13pm, he texted back, ‘No. Consider this relationship over’

Truth be told, that was not the only thing that made him snap that day. He must have been tired of all the little tricks I pulled on him, some of them which I will tell you about today.

The day I wrote about him…

If you are married to a journalist, dating one or you are a friend to one, expect them to write about you at some point. It is nothing personal; it’s just how journalists work.

My boyfriend clearly never heard of this truth. One afternoon, I was running late, and the deadline for my piece was fast-approaching. In fact, the editor had called me twice.

All I had was a blank Microsoft Word document staring back at me. My phone vibrated, it was a text from him and eureka, I got an idea to write about.

Instead of replying to his text, I furiously banged copy (newsroom code for write an article) and viola, I beat my deadline. On the day the article was published, he bombarded me with a torrent of text messages, among them; “Why the hell did you write about me in your column?”

I replied; “Kwani you are the only guy who lives in Kileleshwa and drives a Mark II? Grow up!” I regretted it as soon as I sent that text. It was a little rude, I must admit.

I honestly thought he was just being immature. I mean, people write about others all the time. Maybe I should share an excerpt of what I wrote about him and you be the judge. The piece was about Nairobi men and my boyfriend fell under the ‘Hustler’ category.

“…he drives those cheap Toyota Mark II, Mark X, Mercedes C180/ C200 and all those noisy Subarus you see vrooming around town. He lives in Kileleshwa and other congested gated communities I will not name. He pretends to be successful, buying cheap Toyotas yet he is struggling to pay the car loan. He pretends that he is always moneyed, taking you out every weekend, yet he lives on small loans, borrowing Peter to pay Paul.”

The day I told him the bitter truth

Nobody likes the truth, and nobody hates the truth more than my former boyfriend. During the three months I dated him, I had the opportunity to meet a few of his friends. His friends liked me. I did not like them.

I thought they were a bunch of binge-drinking losers who could do better with their lives and careers. The real trouble began when I told my boyfriend the bitter truth about his friends.

“I like you although I think you can do better in the friends’ department. Those friends you keep are not in your level,” I said as sweetly as I could. He gave me a dirty look and responded; “They have been my friends since college, I think they are great to hang around with.”

See, that is where we go wrong when it comes to choosing friends. We want ‘cool’, ‘fun’ and ‘great’ friends, without caring if they match our status. We are the sum total five of our closest friends and like I told my ex-boyfriend, “If you hang out with four millionaires, you will be the fifth millionaire. If you hang out with four poor men, you will be the fifth poor man. I think you are headed for poverty, sweetie.”

He did not speak to me for days until I pretended to apologise and be sorry for the sake of peace.

Well, since the ‘idiot’ dumped me anyway, I will stick by the truth and rub it in his face. “Dear ex-boyfriend, I still think your friends are losers. You need better ones. Deal with it!”

Because of my elephant-sized ego and pride, I swallowed the break-up like a man and acted like a lady. I walked away, head-high, without drama, I chose not to chase after him, because after all, the six-inch heels I wear would never allow me to chase after a man.

[email protected] @njoki_chege