Recently, Max had become obsessed with cycling and joined an online cycling community. That’s where he met Jane, a yoga instructor. Ever since he met her, Max seemed to forget about me altogether.
He’d spend hours chatting with her in the group but couldn’t be bothered to reply to my texts. He told me I was "too much" and that my concerns were pointless.
But he remembered every detail about Jane. He knew when her time of the month was and would remind her to take it easy, even bringing her soup.
Meanwhile, he forgot mine. And when I cried from the pain, all he could say was, "Women are so dramatic."
So today, he’d skipped meeting his parents for Jane’s winter cycling dream, leaving me behind once again.
I stood in the freezing rain, staring at my phone while cheerful music played on Max’s end of the line.
Suddenly, Max seemed so... boring.
"Max," I said quietly, "did you forget I’ve been waiting for you all day at the barber shop?"
"I’ve waited for you so many times before. I’m not even mad this time—just tired."