Fireball was that perfect guy who always lived in your city but you never knew existed. He was around, but you were too busy making out with Jose, Jim, Jack, or Goose, or partying with your red-headed slut friends to notice. But then finally in 2013 (or maybe it was 2012, you can’t really remember), you locked lips for the first time and were like, “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?”
And he felt the same. Sparks flew. And before you knew it, he was all, “It’s Friday night; let’s hang at YOUR favorite bars, babe.” And you were like, “YAAAAAASSS, how can you be so amazing!?” And all your friends loved him and he was hot and emotionally available and gave you that warm, fuzzy, drunk-in-love feeling and it was love. Or so it seemed. Sure, he made you feel like shit sometimes, but what liquor guy doesn’t, honestly?
You two continued down the magical, exhilarating path of infatuation, although occasionally thinking in the very back of your mind that this seemed too good to be true, and even sometimes after a rough night, you’d think a breakup was on the horizon. But you always got back on track. And every time he engulfed you with his warm embrace and fiery kiss, you remembered why this was The One you fell head-over-stilettos for.
But then one autumn morning, everything changed. You woke up, logged into Facebook, and saw something suspicious. Something that made your heart drop into your stomach. Something that led you to believe the love of your life was not who you thought he was at all.
The headlines were abundant and clear: Fireball being recalled in Europe for antifreeze chemical.
NO NO NO, you thought to yourself. Your Fireball was pure and true. So what if some silly people in OTHER COUNTRIES thought it was shady. They were just jealous and trying to sabotage your relationship. After all, HATERS GONNA HATE. You knew the truth. Plus you can’t believe everything you read on the Internet.
But the more you read, panic setting in and tears streaming down your face, the truer it became. Turns out, the love of your life had TWO different versions of himself: The one given to those “silly people” because they have higher standards and the shittier one you were getting. In an accidental mixup, the truth came out and your boyfriend was put on INTERNET BLAST.
But the worst part? Not that your boyfriend was a toxic liar and everyone knew it….but that you weren’t even his main chick. You weren’t the one getting him at his best. You were the side piece.
Of course, you flipped out and announced, “I’M NEVER SEEING THAT ASSHOLE AGAIN!” (you even tweeted it!), and all your friends were like, “YEAH GIRL, F HIM!” Then you tried to go to spin class to clear your head, but the instructor played that God-awful Pitbull song and you had to leave. He and his crew tried to convince you it wasn’t really that bad–that his level of toxicity was lower than you thought, and he never gave a shit about those other bitches with their snobby high standards–but you weren’t trying to hear it. He texted you (typical, couldn’t even CALL) and you shut his ass down.
After all, you’re a strong, independent woman. You don’t need a man to rely on, especially one living a double life and playing you for a fool. You have Jose and Jack and your SkinnyGirls and your red-headed slut friends who are all more worthy of your time than a two-faced cheat, even if he is hot as balls.
You know what, fuck it, you can sleep with him a few more times.