Giving credit where credit is due, my ex boyfriend Zac, the chem major from Hope who went on to cheat on me with his ex (hence breakup 1) and ultimately date my almost roommate (thankfully, post breakup 2), was a jerk. He was the only guy to break up with me (this was, of course, breakup 1. At least he was honest…?), and while we were dating the first time, he never wanted to listen to my suggestions. Not even kidding. Can we play Halo? No—Zac wanted a nap. Can we go for a walk? No—Zac wanted to watch Tron. Fine, I’ll go for a run with you, but can’t I rest a moment? I sprinted in high school, and these 3 mile runs are killing me. No—Zac ran ahead of me while I was inches away from puking on the train tracks. What a charmer.
The one nice thing I can say about good old Zacferd is the he taught me how to play soccer. Ok, so he kinda taught me how to kick a soccer ball (because somehow I made it to college without ever playing soccer. How? No idea). He also taught me how to play racquetball, but that ended in failure and many an argument.
Zac: Well, maybe if you were willing to try things once in a while, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.
Elyse: No, Zac, we’re having an argument, and the issue is how you want to play racquetball—which we both suck at. And I don’t feel like being bruised by a racquetball inside when I could be outside being bruised by a soccer ball.
Zac: You need to learn how to play racquetball if you want to be successful.
Elyse: No, that’s golf, which we could be playing outside. Only douches play racquetball anyway.
Zac: Meaghan (his ex. See breakup 1, and hence why this was a zinger statement) would have played racquetball. All my friends in Midland play racquetball. I play racquetball.
Elyse: Sure you do, douche…
At any rate, when it got warm enough and Zac was done being a douche, he’d call his guy friends to kick a ball around outside the student center. The boys would knock each other down and brag about their high school exploits while I toddled along trying to kick with the inside of my foot. This usually lasted about 5 minutes til I’d get annoyed and go find a creek, head to Zac’s room to hang out with his roommate, or go to the library to rent Much Ado About Nothing or Beauty and the Beast on VHS.
I haven’t seen Zac since November 2009 (and some readers will be glad to hear that I slapped him across the face), and time does eventually heal all broken hearts and racquetball bruises. I even bothered to buy myself a soccer ball—a blue and white one that glows in the dark. I kicked it around today, and I ran instead of toddled. I even kicked using the inside of my foot. The best part, though, is that I didn’t imagine Zac’s face when I kicked the ball. Now that, my friends, is progress.
Ew. His ex spells her name the same way I do. I thought only cool people were allowed to spell it that way. :P
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