The Rebound

Lynn had just gone through a horrible break-up with a man she loved dearly.

Destitute and depressed, Lynn realized she eventually had to uncurl from the fetal position, crawl out of the clothes hamper, and try to maintain somewhat of a normal life despite losing the man of her dreams.

Coated with a thick sheen of ice cream cartons and wrappers flung from high-calorie snack items, Lynn headed for the shower, cleaned herself up, and found herself a party to go to.

Now, a lot of us, myself included, make the mistake of running out after a break-up in an attempt to find someone to replace the person we have just lost. We commonly call this unsuspecting mark a "rebound."

And oh, what a fucking terrible job they have.

We use the rebound to make us feel better about ourselves, we use the rebound to listen to us complain about our recent break-up, and in some cases, if they're lucky, we'll even use a rebound to get laid. While the rebound might enjoy the sex, for us it's more like trying to figure out how to drive someone else's car.

So anyway Lynn's heading out to this party determined to have a good time. After a couple glasses of wine and a few whacks at the pinata, in walks Ron, a man she had met recently in passing. Now, Ron is completely not Lynn's type, but we must remember the equation we are working with at this point:

Lynn + Large Quantities of Wine + Recent Break-up = Ahhhh, Who Gives a Flying Fuck?

So Ron starts flirting with Lynn, and Lynn somewhat accepts the overtures despite the fact that she finds Ron a bit preposterous. She describes him as an overly pretentious musician- the type who takes himself way too seriously, and constantly refers to himself as a "musical composer" rather than a musician.

Because apparently, there's a difference.

Lynn sums up his musical talent as follows: "It sucks."

Anyway, Ron asks Lynn out for coffee, and in her drunken state Lynn was momentarily flattered by his proposition. She accepted, and later that week they met for coffee. Surprisingly, Lynn ended up having a fantastic time. So fantastic, in fact, that she decided to see him again!

We have ourselves a rebound folks. Book it.

And then... ... .. well. Here we go.

This is why rebounds never last.

Ron the superior intellectual musician who knows way more totally obscure bands than you do, began to talk to Lynn in a really condescending tone all the time. And the sex was horrible.

Not only did he constantly ask her if he was the best she had ever had in bed, but he asked it during the sexual act itself. The fact that she actually heard him ask the question might point us to the correct answer of that question, no?

Adds Lynn: "Note to guys: never ask a woman if it's the best they've ever had. If you have to ask, it isn't. If you're asking during the act itself, it really isn't. If the "Uhhhh..." response is the first noise she's made the whole time, then it really REALLY isn't."

Well put, Lynn. You're the best explanation I've ever had.

Bad sex aside, Lynn found him tolerable for a couple more weeks until Ron started throwing out the premature "I love you's," followed closely by an absolutely serious marriage proposal after three weeks of less-than-casual dating.

"Like any reasonable woman, I bounded into the night like a frightened deer," Lynn says.

But was Ron done with Lynn?

Would this be "Psychotic Letters From Men" if he was?

Of course not.

So tortured was Ron after three weeks of a lukewarm, semi-casual, completely unserious relationship, Ron immediately fired off a missive to Lynn.

Take it away, Ron.

Lynn,

I sit here writing this completely at a loss. Was I not good to you? Did I not worship you? I thought that you were different from whores past, but my heart is truly broken that I may have been wrong. All I wanted was to give you the world, to watch you bear my children, to die together. I thought that you felt the same. Those nights listening to you breathe next to me gave me singular joy like none I’ve ever known on this earth. And now it’s all gone.

You have broken my heart. And all because you “don’t feel it”. You felt it enough to go out with me. You felt it enough to lead me on. You felt it enough to add me to your collection of men you’ve shared a bed with. You used me and threw me away, and for what? For some dick who doesn’t see who you really are?

I thought you were the one, the woman I was meant to share my life with. I thought you understood me. And now I understand that I should have seen right through you from the beginning.

Know this: Every song I write from now on, every note my guitar screams, will be for you. One day you’ll see me on-stage, pouring my heart into the music, and you’ll know that every tortured note is all because of the lies and deception of a whore.

I will think of you fondly, and I will always be here if you need me. I don’t feel we have anything further to talk about.

Goodbye.

Ron

"I will think of you fondly?"

Is that before, during or after you call her a whore three times?

Anyway, so goes the plight of the rebound. They never know they're the rebound until it's too late. But Ron, seriously, you can't help but blame yourself. You honestly sound like a complete jackass, and next time you fall in love (next week or so), you may want to hold off on the marriage proposals until the fourth or fifth week at the earliest.

We've all been the rebound and used the rebound, so feel free to share a rebound story in the comments.