Some people deal well with being dumped: they lose weight, rediscover lost friends, write novels.
Not me: I tend to rediscover my loves of carbohydrates and wallowing.
During the Great Breakup of Valentine's Day, 2002, I was able to put down the carbs and quit the wallowing, mostly because of a single phone call with my dad. It's probably worth noting that my dad is a psychologist.
"Madeleine," my dad said on the fateful call, "dating is like buying a couch." At this point in the chat, I was just trying to pretend that I was not the kind of daughter that would cry into a huge bowl of pasta. So my response was, "Huh?"
"You go into a store, and you take a look at the couches. And pretty much always, you'll see a good one. So, you know, you'll go over to the couch, and look at it a bit closer. You might sit down, see if it's comfortable. You'll take some time checking underneath the cushions --does it look clean? Is everything in decent shape?"
At this point, I was fully distracted from the pasta.
He continued, "Now, if you're comfortable sitting on the couch, you might lie down, see how that feels."
This part of the analogy was awkward. I'm pretty sure "lying down on the couch" = "sleeping with someone you're dating" and while my dad's a shrink, and clearly had his shrink hat on, he is still my DAD. One part of our relationship is that we all like to pretend that Madeleine only ever holds hands with boys. It makes the whole family more comfortable.
But awkwardness aside, I saw his point. And with that, my friends, I released the pasta. Dating is so much easier when you picture yourself at a Jennifer Convertible Store.