When I was in college, I was like most: young and naïve. I was wholly against alcohol, loud noises, and all things that belonged in a party. Unfortunately, I was also a performance major as was my boyfriend. We would go to IHOP, watch movies, and do all sorts of college freshman things. And considering that my best friend was Mormon, we were all moving at the very same speed.
Then my boyfriend was cast in a show. Songs for a New World to be exact. It was a very small cast performing in a show about life experiences. My boyfriend was the youngest in the cast, so they all lovingly took him under their wing. But their wing involved scary things like alcohol.
The morning after his first frightening foray into this new world of grown up things, I was very displeased. I mean, what girlfriend wouldn’t be if her boyfriend went out and partied for the first time with people she didn’t know? We had a big talk, and everything was fine for a little while. Until he decided that he liked being a part of this new risky musical theatre crowd to which I didn’t belong. He came to my dorm room to break up with me. I didn’t fight him. I just kissed him goodbye.
At that point he collapsed dramatically onto my roommate’s drying rack and broke it. (I hope my roommate doesn’t find this blog, because that might be awkward.) It was all very soap opera-esque. After singing “Run Freedom Run” from the musical Urinetown at the tops of my lungs for a while, I felt better about the whole thing. My friends were wonderfully comforting. But then we had to face the ultimate dilemma: how to get him back. There was plotting and scheming, and eventually, we had a plan.
I asked the now ex-boyfriend to meet me on the tiny patch of earth my college called a quad to talk. I sat him down one side to the sun, and we talked. All about him deciding what kind of friends he wanted. How I understood his decision and supported it. We talked for hours. He got a sun burn on half his face. The sunburn wasn’t to get him back, just a bit of revenge. And then I waited. Six days later, while I was home on spring break, he called crying and said he wanted to get back together. There are more stories about the week in between. But since I married that “at one point ex-boyfriend,” I’ll have to get his permission to tell you.
The moral of the story is: if you want to get the boy back, make sure he feels ugly because he has a sunburn on his face. OR be supportive. One or the other.