|
Love
Recovery
Curing the break-up blues.
This
is my ninth column for Cincinnati Magazine,
writing as a single woman scouting the town
for fun and adventure. I have written about
the good life of a happy single. I have
written about my awesome girlfriends. But
not once have I mentioned love. Until now.
You
might think I am hell-bent on the topic
because I am in love. But I am dedicated
to this discourse because I have just recently
been in love and just days ago, minutes
ago, seconds ago, I had my heart stepped
on. Oh how I wish I could tell you he broke
my heart on a stroll along the Ohio River
or was cad enough to break it off over dinner
in a crowded restaurant, say Bella.
But
no, I had to go to Paris for love. Technically,
I went back to Paris for love. I fell for
a man in April and returned a month later
to see what might come of this magical union.
In April, he only had eyes for me, and it
was the most romantic time of my life. It
was semi-magical when I arrived. OK. It
wasn’t. It was terrible from the get-go.
I
survived to tell the tale, spending a few
lonely days in Paris, trying not to be horribly
depressed. Thank God for internet cafes
and pay phones. But I desperately wished
I could come home. Because if I had been
nursing my heart in Cincinnati, I would
have demanded that my friends come over
right away to hear my sad story in person.
And they would do it. Every single one of
them would drop whatever they were doing
and would come to my emotional rescue.
Leah
would bring me something beautiful from
her store, Lifeesthetics. Sarah would bring
me words of wisdom and make me get my butt
off the couch and go dancing at Have a Nice
Day Cafe on Main Street or some other insane
place for grown-ups, and we would have a
blast. Betsy would prescribe a pharmaceutical
cure with a twist and send me to ogle the
hot pharmacist at the CVS in Corryville.
Or
I could have knocked on my downtown neighbor
Patrick’s door and he would feed me
homemade cookies. Either that or I could
walk myself right around the corner to Vine
Street and buy three dozen or so of Gretchen’s
amazing cookies from her lunchtime soup
and sandwich restaurant. Or I could have
gone to my mom’s in Covington and
stayed on the couch for three days while
she brought me People magazines and United
Dairy Farmers vanilla milkshakes, or to
my dad and stepmom’s in Glendale to
watch To Kill a Mockingbird and cry a little
more.
So
next time, darn it, I’ll try to keep
my heart closer to home. That way, if it
breaks, I’ll have plenty of people
nearby to help me pick up the pieces. Because
when your heart is broken, there truly is
no place like home.
stacy sims
|