Is There Anything Worse Than Receiving The Obligatory "Happy Birthday" Text From Your Ex-Girlfriend?

Here it is– the dreaded, obligatory “happy birthday” text from my ex. It’s the most obvious chore of all time. There is no mention of a fond memory, no question of how I’m doing, no “I’m proud of you for following your dream and finally finding a whisper of success, given that when we were dating, you were a terrible comedian.” Nothing but the thinnest, most cursory wish that single-handedly ruins my birthday each year.

And how about the little quip of “29, yikes!” What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is she saying, “wow, you’re getting old Fran. Look around at the rest of our friends–they’re doing so much better than you! They make oodles of money and are either engaged or in committed relationships. Meanwhile, you make out with like 5 chicks a weekend and don’t even know their names. No wonder you always have a sore throat on Monday. Sure, you squatted 365 yesterday even though you were super hungover and your legs were toast from that dry handjob you woke up to that nearly started a fire in your bedroom. But you’re not getting any younger. 29… yikes!”

Or maybe she’s saying “29, yikes! To think that at one point in my life, I thought we’d still be together on your 29th birthday. Really dodged a bullet there!”

Or maybe “29, yikes! In the years that we’ve been apart, I’ve completely redefined my life and am now crushing it in my field. I have a new boyfriend, which you know about because even though you unfollowed me on Instagram, your friends assumed you still followed me and mentioned it casually to get a rise out of you. Sure, you ‘accidentally’ dropped that plate of wings in response and ‘lost track of how many drinks you’d had’ and ‘slept in the bathtub that night,’ but you handled it pretty well! Keep doing you, big guy!”

We communicate twice a year: on my birthday, I get a text from her saying “happy birthday.” On her birthday, she gets a text from me saying “I wish I had never met you.” And then 6 missed calls and a video of me burning the olympic lifting shoes she gave me on my 24th birthday (huge mistake btw, those shoes would have come in handy these days). As you can see from the entirely blank conversation in that screen shot, I always delete whatever sparse communication we have. Can’t have that thread sitting around, waiting for me to pick at it and overanalyze it until I finally get home to my bong and shut off all motor functions.

To those of you who somehow manage to become friends with your exes, I’ll say this–you guys were never in love. If the pain I described doesn’t resonate with you, you guys never loved each other for real. If you send a happy birthday text to your ex, and you genuinely mean it, you know nothing Jon Snow.