I loved my watch. Since I got it, there hasn’t been a day I have left the house without wearing it. It’s not the most beautiful watch in the world but it has sentimental value. It was given to me by the last person I thought was finally going to rescue me from my severe singlehood. I had even already started looking for cute baby names that go well with his last name. But then we had the conversation. The one where you cleverly work the word ‘girlfriend’ into a conversation to find out if your crush is already taken. It turned out that he was indeed taken. He even had pictures. Pictures of a girl so hot that for the second time in my life, I started to think of my uncanny resemblance to Shriek. With that, I comfortably took my place in the friendzone. The watch was a birthday present from him to me, his very good friend. (Why me?) Last weekend, I misplaced the watch. I turned the whole house upside down but I couldn’t find it. I thought that it had been stolen so I immediately cursed the thief. I proclaimed an incurable plague on their arm. On Monday when I tried to leave the house without wearing the watch, my wrist felt so naked that I wore a bracelet to cover it up. On Tuesday, I wanted to wear the bracelet again but then I thought of how much it had inconvenienced me. It was tight to the point of blocking circulation of blood to my hand. So I left it behind and spent the whole day thinking about my watch, missing it, seeking sympathy from anyone who cared to listen and proclaiming more curses on the thief. On Wednesday, I accepted that the watch was gone and decided that it was time to move on. After all, I had once lived happily without a watch and I could do it again. On Thursday evening, I found the watch. I had put it on the window seal and it had got stuck in the curtain. I would have been excited but by that time I no longer had ‘feelings’ for it. I didn’t remember to wear it on Friday. I wanted to wear it to a party on Saturday but it didn’t match the rest of my jewelry. Once upon a time, this would have meant finding other jewelry that matches the watch. But for the first time, it didn’t seem reasonable to treat the watch with such importance. I swear, what happened with the watch is exactly what happened with ninety-nine percent of my relationships. I love the men, lose them, mourn them and then move on. Those that come back for a second chance find me already wondering why I found them worthy of my time in the first place. People have been telling me that I have a deficiency of feelings and I have been refuting their claims. But now I know need therapy to reduce the risk of missing out on a ring on my fourth finger.
