I'll Take The Stairs

Our blogger gets a workout after an elevator romance goes sour.

By Liza Persky

I'm having a hard time getting past my latest failed relationship, and the reason is in my closet. 

I was recently swept off my feet by Randy.  We work in the same building and took notice of each other during our morning elevator trips. That elevator ride was all that I looked forward to each day. (And the fact that it was over by 9:30 am tells you what kind of month I've been having.)  A month ago he finally asked me out. The first thing I thought was, "What if we date and then break up and I have to avoid the elevator every morning?" (I work on the 17th floor, so you can understand my concern.)

But, of course I said yes. We went out to a local bar, and I knew I really liked him when I found myself drinking beer. Two days after our first date, I came down with a really bad cold. He showed up at my apartment with roses and orange juice. I know, I know: kinda scary, but I loved it.  As soon as I recovered we went out...four times in one week. He started referring to me as his girlfriend after about two weeks. I was sold.

Randy is a TV producer and had to go on location for three weeks. He came over the night before he left town looking adorable. He was wearing the black Armani button down that I wore once to breakfast.  (What is it about a man's shirt that makes a woman feel so feminine?)  As we were hugging goodbye, he said, "I'm leaving my shirt for you. That way every time you miss me you can wear it." He promised to call me everyday.  

Three weeks later...and you guessed it: No call. I tried rationalizing it the way any hopeful girl would: Maybe he died.  I mean seriously, who's going to call and tell me. His mother? I'm sure she'd be too busy planning the funeral.

Of course this wasn't the first time I've had a guy disappear faster than David Blaine on an ABC special, but this one really threw me.  Why do men pour it on thick, and then vanish? What could have happened? I decided to ask an expert: my ex. Unfortunately, his explanation -- "guys are dicks" - wasn't that helpful. My friend Ken chalked it up to men being "afraid of tears."  (Men, wanna know how you avoid tears? Don't dump someone by disappearing.)

According to Cosmopolitan's sex and love column, men disappear because they get bored and "the grass is always greener."  But Randy was on location in the Gobi Desert.  What kind of grass could he have found?  I asked my friend Shelly, who'd been recently dumped in a similar manner and she said she thinks it's because she wouldn't eat nachos.  (I say Shelly is better off.)

So it's been three weeks and I know he's back, and worse, he's alive! I heard it from someone in the building.  Now I have a dilemma.  What to do with his Armani shirt?  I wish I could just throw it away it an angry fit, but I'm not Shannon Doherty.  So, I've come up with a solution.  There should be a consignment store called "Dumped" for people to bring the clothes, furniture, appliances and baggage left behind from a bad breakup.  Everyone has something from an ex that they can't stand looking at, but can't seem to part with. At Dumped, you not only get rid of the stuff, you make money off of it.

Money I could use on a new pair of sneakers, since it looks like I'll be taking the stairs from now on.