How Not to Break Up WIth Your Girlfriend

(This is a continuation of this post.)

So... there I was in the fall of 1980, having been with Julie for nearly a year.

In her mind things were going swimmingly. We did things together, but because she lived on the other side of town, I rarely saw her on the weekend (neither of us had a car). Since my weekend were my own, I usually hung out with my friends. For us, hanging out meant scoring some beer and being teen aged boys. We weren't wild by any stretch, but we had fun, at times, that might make a parent raise their eyebrows.

On Monday mornings, I would get the third degree about what I did with my "hoodlum friends"... at first I laughed it off, I continued to laugh it off until the questioning became more than I was comfortable with. Eventually, I got really tired of it.

Julie had wanted to be a cheerleader, but didn't make the team. She wound up on that third (or fourth) tier of pep squad activities known as the color guard... you know white pom pom boots, weird looking hats and those spinning rifles? You get the picture. Well, I would go to some of our basketball games.... not because I liked basketball (I don't) but because the Color Guard would perform at half-time, and Julie and I could be together while the game was on.

Well, she knew that things were tense between us, and we had had a few ugly arguments, but what came next at this particular game was a spectacular example of stupidity on my part... and generally, I like to believe that I'm not stupid.

But...

Right after the halftime show one evening, while we were sitting a scant few feet from a whole knot of her friends, Julie flat out asked me what was going on, and I told her that I was tired of her nagging about my friends, and trying to control me. I further told her to give my class ring back, while I handed hers back to her (it was hanging on a chain around my neck).

Wham

Bam

That's it. We're done. No prolonged drama. A weight off of my shoulders.

Done... clean, with no muss, right?


Ha!
Julie started to cry. Not just weeping... not silent tears of hurt. No, this was full on bawling. Blubbering. Loud tears and just freakin' awful.

Everyone on the Home side of the bleachers was starting.

All of her friends immediately turned on me and loudly demanded to know what I had said to her.

I could see the rest of my high school romantic life evaporating before my eyes.

So what did I do? I'll tell you what I did... I collected myself, put my class ring back on my finger, put on my jacket, and walked out of the gym without a backward glance.

As it happens, Julie's friends weren't as horrified as they made out... one of her friends (and neighbor) was named Sissy... guess who my next girlfriend was?