An Underwhelming Exposé

Good morning.

It seems the day has finally come. I had imagined it more dramatic; I must admit – thought it would take social media by the balls and shake it to its core. My dear old mind had conjured images of hound dogs and reporters, of a safe ready to burst at its seams – secrets trembling, waiting to be spilled across the darkened nights. I had thought the worst – and, to my dismay, was entirely underwhelmed.

(When your mind tells you to prepare for a doomsday and all you get is an NDA from your recently divorced ex-husband, a lot of things begin to seem underwhelming.)

My nonchalance attitude to this entire charade will cause blood veins to burst – I can already tell. I can see the anger through your jumbled 279 character strongly worded tweet, can see the way you spit words like ‘cheater’ and ‘slut’ from your teeth in a way that would make most mothers flinch. I would flinch as well, had I not heard it all before. Truly, its underwhelming.

Tuesdays to me had also always seems underwhelming. It is only fitting that my horrid ways be revealed only hours before the sun had truly risen – before the darkness could truly hide. I suppose I could blame the empty whiskey bottle for my bravery, or perhaps it was cowardness – my drunk self picking up the phone and sending off photos that I had already put in my favourite’s album. How incredibly underwhelming, that my exposé was done by my own hand and no one else’s.

I had waited 3 years for someone to realise what I had done. 3 years hiding every text and covering ever scent of cologne. Of wearing turtlenecks in 30-degree weather and choosing nondescript black cars on public holidays. 3 years only for it to end when this gun I wielded to protect myself shot out a bullet that went right through my foot. Extremely anticlimactic, I’m almost pouting in boredom.

To my drunk self who decided this was a good idea: thank you, I suppose. I understand that I may deal with these consequences, deal with the blood quickly spilling from my limbs, watch as that silly little follower count drops and drops every minute or so – but I suppose I can finally wear dresses and off the shoulder shirts throughout summer.

This is not the ‘apology’ any of you want, I can see this clearly. You wish for me to repent, to recognise the awful human traits that I could not hide like the rest of you are so desperately trying to.

Next time I drink a bottle of whiskey in its entirety, I’ll make sure to give you one.

In the meantime, I’ll lock up that particular cupboard and stop preparing for the Armageddon. I’ll sign the NDA, and slowly fade back into the social media wall of fuckups and disgraces.

Good night my adoring fans (and to Michael, see you on Friday, my darling.)