Jaw, meet floor.

When I got to work today, I had an e-mail from my brother, so I popped open my morning can of Coke and began reading. It started off with an anecdote from his job and a comment about the cold he’s getting over, and then he blindsided me by writing, “What do you think about Dad and G’s breakup?”

WHAT?!?

I instantly called Daddy-O’s work number and got his voicemail, so I left a message asking him to call me back as soon as possible. When my phone rang about ten minutes later, I grabbed the receiver and breathlessly whipped through the usual spiel.

“You sound so professional, Little Ro. What’s up?”

“Did you and G really break up?”

Pause.

“Good news travels fast,” he said, chuckling wearily.

“What…what the hell happened?” I sputtered. “You guys have been doing so well!”


WE INTERRUPT THIS ENTRY FOR THE CLIFF’S NOTES OF DADDY-O AND G’S RELATIONSHIP, FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE NEW


About three years after my mom died, my dad cautiously dipped his toes back into the murky swamp of the Dating World. Because of his position, he can’t date anyone at work, so he signed up with a dating service, and I believe G was either the second or third woman they set him up with. She had just gotten divorced from a very successful, very assholish attorney, and she was still a little fragile. Still, she and Daddy-O hit it off, and they began seeing each other exclusively. Unfortunately, her emotional baggage kept falling from the overhead compartment and bonking poor Daddy-O on the head, so they broke up about a year later. He started seeing a very blonde, very leggy woman, and word got back to G, who was wracked with jealousy and came a-callin’. Because he had never gotten over G, and because Blondie McLeggerson was making him nervous (note to all single women out there: telling a man on your SECOND DATE that you want a marquise diamond engagement ring of at least 3 carats = bye bye boyfriend), he took her back…and things were all sunshine and roses for the past four years.

Until now, which brings us back to the story at hand.

“To be honest, things have been a little…weird for the last month or so,” Daddy-O said. “I mean, I wanted to be with her, and I wanted to take things to the next level…not marriage, necessarily, but living together at least. And she had some reservations about that, like for example, she said she didn’t feel ready for that, despite the fact that we’ve been seeing each other steadily for five years now, and that she didn’t think I could give her the kind of lifestyle she wants.”

My nostrils began whistling like a teakettle as I worked myself up into a full-on frenzy; I was glad nobody else had come in yet.

“The KIND of LIFESTYLE she wants?” I exploded. “What the HELL does she want? A goddamn jet?”

“Ro…”

“You make a DAMN good living, and you have a DAMN good job! Not only that, she gets ten grand a MONTH alimony for doing NOTHING but staying single, and why should money even matter at ALL? If you love someone, you should be just as happy eating hot dogs in front of the TV as you are going out to nice restaurants! Who the hell does she think she is, Paris Hilton? That goddamn---“

“Hey, hey, hey,” Daddy-O interrupted. “I know you’re mad, and I’m mad too, frankly, but I still care very much about her and I don’t want you badmouthing her around me, please.”

Oh, he is far too good for a spoiled little entitlement princess like that. He’s a handsome guy with a great career, he’s funny as hell, and he’s so charming he could sell ketchup popsicles to a Florida bride in July. There’s a woman out there who’s going to care more about him than his Lexus or his bank account, and I know he'll find her eventually.

In the meantime, though, I am hurting so bad for him.