Breakups have a way of exposing people’s true selves, and my ex’s was fifty shades of delusional. He returned months after I had ejected him with a grocery bag in the form of a trophy, containing the saddest peace offering imaginable: eggs and bologna. I accepted it as a way to end the conversation, already figuring out how quickly I could discard it.
When a mutual friend casually said, “Your ex was just bragging about how he’s been keeping your fridge fully loaded,” hours later, I couldn’t help but laugh. In what universe would twelve eggs and some processed meat be considered “fully loaded?” That was the last piece of evidence I needed to know that I hadn’t just ended a relationship; I had fled an entire alternate reality where his meager efforts were transformed into extravagant gestures in his own imagination.