SCABs

Divorced at 27 – By @saphire_rose

By Saphire Favell 

 

Divorced at 27.

God these scabs come around quick, don’t they…?

Well. Ahem. Where to begin?

All I can say, with utter oomph, is that a lot can happen within a few days. One moment you and your partner are sharing a buttered crumpet and the next you’re filing for an injunction.

Typical.

No. But seriously. What a rollercoaster, honey. Just like Thorpe Park’s ‘X No Way Out’. I’m stuck.

So, to all my fans reading this… you guessed it. I’m single now. No surprise there. As I was telling Josie and Charles today – I am apparently the modern equivalent of the village medicine man. Had a two hour chat with some bloke last year on the phone whose apparently an astrology natal chart reader and he told me just that – I am the medicine man. Never in the bamboozling centre of the village ‘avin a laf. But on the outskirts. Alone. The anti-vaxxer.

Boohoo. Cry me a river. I get it. I’m a freak! Shove me in a cave along with the other single leppers (I see you Ruby) and block the entrance with a giant stone boulder.

Done.

Maybe you can tell from my erratic writing that I am, quite frankly, a maniac. I mostly stayed in all bank holiday weekend teetering on the edge of an internal breakdown. Made some hash brownies and bringed on Netflix. And contemplated the future of my life as a single creative.

Lol. Medicine man I am.

I’m a difficult character. I know that. Trust me. I know that. And FYI I struggle with who I am nearly every day. But I guess a lot of people can relate to that. Cue the miniature violins.

After the half-term I just felt like I’d lost my mojo. I could hear Zac Effron begging me to get ma head in the game but it just weren’t happenin’. My partner and I just weren’t happenin’. The ideas just weren’t happenin’. It just weren’t happenin’.

So something needed to happen.

Divorce.

We split the kid. In half. And we said our goodbyes. Ta Ra for now. Forever. Bye Felicia (American accent). I’m joking Alex.

We may have gone our separate ways. But I will never forget how you liked your vanilla lattes from Starbucks in the morning. Or your very questionable choice of an egg sandwich. And how you’d stick your headphones on to drown me out. And how, most recently, you’d never CC me in.

I’ll never look at pickles the same way. Or choose to watch Hentai porn again. I’ll also never forget your penchant to buying soup from that crusty random van.

But, on a serious level, I will forever admire your fabulous writing and wit. Regardless of our many (many, many, many, many, many x100000) differences, it was still a pleasure to have worked with you for that time. You are, as I’ve told you many times, my favourite copywriter in the class. And I know that you and Big Rib will smash it.

The future is bright. The future is orange.

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