I know this guy.
Not THIS guy, but this waves hands all around guy.
Imagine this, if you will.
You’re out with your friends for a night of improv. You do this every week and it’s a great stress reliever, and you’ve just enjoyed laughing your asses off along with 200 other people.
It’s a good feeling, because things have been not-so-good lately. You’re over worked, your personal life is…
And one of the show hosts comes up on stage with an announcement of a special finale.
This has gotta be good, right?
You can’t believe your eyes. You feel like a cartoon where someone rubs their eyes, blinks, and shakes their head trying to unsee what they are seeing.
Because up on the stage is the alcoholic, mentally ill ex who you have a restraining order against, along with some of your casual friends (who don’t know the saga) performing an over-the-top declaration of love for you.
While you stand, frozen in a darkened theater with a spotlight on you, and people looking from the stage to you with huge smiles on their faces.
You literally can’t think.
You can’t even really take in what is being said or what’s happening.
It’s too fucking bizarre and frankly, creepy and scary as fuck.
And when it comes to an end, your ex has said something that makes nearly everyone in the theater go wild and start chanting something. You don’t know if it’s “say yes,” or “do it,” or something else, but they are all urging you to accept his please positively, while you wonder if the human that threatened you with a gun and killing himself will come after you if you try to run.
A huge bouquet of multiple dozens of roses are being passed towards you, and as you can finally move, you turn to your best friend with a look of horror on your face.
Thankfully, they say, “Let’s get you out of here,” and start making way.
I’ve always been a romantic. I’ve always loved love and grand gestures. Not just receiving them, but offering them to those I adore.
That night, I learned something that I’d never had to think about before.
It’s only romantic when you still love them.
If you don’t still love them, or worse, you have reason to be afraid of or for them, it’s creepy. It’s stalkerish.
This guy. He’s doing the same. And enlisting the public in his crusade.
If he’d been a good fit, maybe done things like this (although this might just be signs he’s unhinged) while they were together, then they’d be together.
They’re not. And playing a piano is not going to fix the things that broke them up to begin with (unless it was literally just because he didn’t play the piano enough, and even then…).
I did a bit of digging. This was for a four-month relationship. FOUR MONTHS.
And the follow-up: Bristol piano man quits playing after being punched in the head.
Article: This man won’t stop playing the piano until he wins back his lost love. He’s playing on College Green and has vowed not to stop until she see how much…
Response: I hope that she never takes him back.
I hope that every woman who ever dumped him calls him to dump him all over again.
I hope that parents will walk their young boys by this pathetic display to point and say, “THIS is what happens when you feel entitled to women. You end up being a self-obsessed 34 year old [sic] embarrassing himself in the middle of a fucking park.”
I hope that everyone who walks by whispers, “bro the fuck up” to him.
I hope that every time, for the rest of his dating life, that he goes on a date and starts to tell this story to show how romantic he is (AND YOU KNOW HE WILL) that his date will cut him off and say, “Oh you’re THAT dude.” And will walk off and leave him with the tab.
Women are not your property.
You are not entitled to our company.
We do not exist to make you better, or happier, or more complete.
We are allowed to leave you.
We don’t need a reason.
You’ll be okay without us.
Our autonomous decisions are not a reflection on your manhood.
It’s okay to be sad when we go away, and it’s okay to get therapy if you can’t stop being sad about it.
We are not your therapy.
We are human beings.