Ask Pandora
Today's question for 4.26.22:
Breakups Part One: What is the Six Month Rule?
Well, this has been surprising. When I posted a call for questions, I expected maybe a handful of emails including some jokes about whether Winnie the Pooh was a freak like Ewan McGregor said he was on the set of Christopher Robin and was our refrigerator running. The Zen Dixie box was brimming with questions. Are Dear Abby and Ask Prudence really that busy?
The most common topics were breakups of all kinds. Today, we're going to handle an aspect of romantic misadventures that can make the calmest person want to swear and knock over a few grocery store endcaps.
I was sitting at a table in the local burnt coffee n' microwaved snack place. Two tables over, Gertrude is working on her vituperation and debate badge with three other Gummy Scouts. One of the other little girls had just called Gertrude a meaniehead for saying there were no such things as mermaids when their argument was drowned out by a woman sitting the next table over. She wept the whole time we were there, occasionally emitting short, shrill, wails and siffling her way through an entire sleeve of paper napkins.
Pandora sighed, excused herself from her scout mothering dutuies, and walked to my table.
"Are you going to do something about that?"
I muttered a quick "no" and got back to my coffee and news fix. She remained at the other side of my table, staring impassively at my forehead. I wish she wouldn't do that.
"You know I get paid for this."
Pandora sighed. "Fine. I'll ask her if she's okay." Pandora ambled over to the table and took the seat opposite her.
Would it be an overstatement that the stranger's answer was one of a half-dozen I address on a daily basis?
"That jerk! That useless piece of shit! We haven't been apart for a year and he's already engaged? I gave him nine years of my life. The whole time he never said a word about making things official and permanent. I was always the one bringing it up. What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me?" She dissolved into a puddle of weepy goo and crumpled napkins.
"It's very simple," she said. "Have you ever heard of the six month rule?"
"I don't care about rules! He needs to be as miserable as I am!" She looked across the table as the tiny, very zen panda who was talking to her and gasped.
Pandora nodded sagely. "I get it. I'm a single mother. I really get it. Here's the ugly truth. It's why you should never try to haunt your exes hoping for that dose of sweet, sweet, schadenfreude. They probably will get what's coming and you may never see that. In the mean time you get to see them meet the loves of their lives or that dream career they never did anything about pursuing while they lived on your couch and played Call of Duty all day.
"Don't get me wrong. They had it very easy when they were with you. Too easy, in fact. You were very good to him, but you gave him no incentive to change. He didn't get that until he lost what was enabling him to live the life of a twelve-year-old only with better toys.
"When you're gone, it takes three, but more often six months for them to understand they have to grow up. They need to stop looking for mama and start acting they want a partner. If you've been the one to take care of this manboy, it's never going to be you."
The woman blew her nose into a fresh napkin. "But..." she squeaked out.
"Let this one go and resolve to only date grown men. You'll find the partner you've been waiting for all these years. Now have a latte on me." She clapped her paws in my direction and told me to buy the woman a latte. "I've got a debate to moderate."
The most common topics were breakups of all kinds. Today, we're going to handle an aspect of romantic misadventures that can make the calmest person want to swear and knock over a few grocery store endcaps.
I was sitting at a table in the local burnt coffee n' microwaved snack place. Two tables over, Gertrude is working on her vituperation and debate badge with three other Gummy Scouts. One of the other little girls had just called Gertrude a meaniehead for saying there were no such things as mermaids when their argument was drowned out by a woman sitting the next table over. She wept the whole time we were there, occasionally emitting short, shrill, wails and siffling her way through an entire sleeve of paper napkins.
Pandora sighed, excused herself from her scout mothering dutuies, and walked to my table.
"Are you going to do something about that?"
I muttered a quick "no" and got back to my coffee and news fix. She remained at the other side of my table, staring impassively at my forehead. I wish she wouldn't do that.
"You know I get paid for this."
Pandora sighed. "Fine. I'll ask her if she's okay." Pandora ambled over to the table and took the seat opposite her.
Would it be an overstatement that the stranger's answer was one of a half-dozen I address on a daily basis?
"That jerk! That useless piece of shit! We haven't been apart for a year and he's already engaged? I gave him nine years of my life. The whole time he never said a word about making things official and permanent. I was always the one bringing it up. What is wrong with him? What is wrong with me?" She dissolved into a puddle of weepy goo and crumpled napkins.
"It's very simple," she said. "Have you ever heard of the six month rule?"
"I don't care about rules! He needs to be as miserable as I am!" She looked across the table as the tiny, very zen panda who was talking to her and gasped.
Pandora nodded sagely. "I get it. I'm a single mother. I really get it. Here's the ugly truth. It's why you should never try to haunt your exes hoping for that dose of sweet, sweet, schadenfreude. They probably will get what's coming and you may never see that. In the mean time you get to see them meet the loves of their lives or that dream career they never did anything about pursuing while they lived on your couch and played Call of Duty all day.
"Don't get me wrong. They had it very easy when they were with you. Too easy, in fact. You were very good to him, but you gave him no incentive to change. He didn't get that until he lost what was enabling him to live the life of a twelve-year-old only with better toys.
"When you're gone, it takes three, but more often six months for them to understand they have to grow up. They need to stop looking for mama and start acting they want a partner. If you've been the one to take care of this manboy, it's never going to be you."
The woman blew her nose into a fresh napkin. "But..." she squeaked out.
"Let this one go and resolve to only date grown men. You'll find the partner you've been waiting for all these years. Now have a latte on me." She clapped her paws in my direction and told me to buy the woman a latte. "I've got a debate to moderate."
Pandora and her daughter, Gertrude
Pandora is a graduate of The School of Life and Stuffies. She lives in middle Tennessee with her daughter, Gertrude, her editor and handler, Jas Faulkner, Jas' Mother, and a small tabby cat who thinks she knows everything.