Places to Cry Over Your Impending Divorce, Rated
In the bathroom on your first Hinge date after a man with one really long fingernail pressures you to set up a cryptocurrency wallet on your phone. 0/10
In the child psychologist’s office after asking her if the divorce will turn your son into the type of man who wears a puka shell necklace and she says, “Maybe.” 3/10
At your free trial class at CrossFit, doing box jumps, working on your divorce bod. You’ve peed a little bit and you have to tell Coach Bryce that after three kids, your pelvic floor is just a flimsy suggestion. 2/10
At the hair salon, getting the gray in your hair dyed pink. Reclaim that lost youth—you look like Cyndi Lauper. Or Helen Mirren? Or just plain desperate? How much is this going to cost, and why is everyone staring at you? 3/10
In the car. This is the little black dress of crying locales. It’s classic, comfortable, and accessible day or night. Crying in the car is always in style. 10/10
On an experimental ketamine infusion for a depressive episode, as you commandeer Santa’s sleigh through the cosmos. You weep at the symbolism of taking control of your life before the doctor increases your dose, and you crash the reindeer into a fjord. 8/10
In the shower, performing basic hygiene. Tears go right down the drain, and the steam combined with the lacrimal salt content can be rebranded as a mineral facial. 10/10
At kindergarten/school pick-up, not totally sure if today is your day or your ex’s, and the anxiety is killing you. Plus, Marcia Neuwirth—chipper mother of five who always looks disgustingly impeccable—is coming in hot with open arms, frowning at you as though you were a middle-class paycheck. 2/10
In the tattoo parlor, because, unlike your marriage, this sweet divorce tattoo will last forever. That ouroboros shaped like an infinity symbol with your kids’ initials inside looks dope! Does anyone still say “dope”? WOW, that’s painful. 9/10
On your divorcée ayahuasca retreat. Crying is actually encouraged here, but now your shaman’s scolding you for bragging about the oriental rug you found on the desert floor of Joshua Tree, which is just a puddle of your own vomit, some of which you purged on your new friend Barb. 7/10
In the McDonald’s drive-thru, because fuck cooking, fuck a well-balanced diet, definitely fuck CrossFit. You’ll take a quarter pounder with a large fry and two Happy Meals, please, plus a soft serve… what do you mean the soft serve machine is down? 3/10 (When the soft serve machine is working: 9/10)
In front of your lawyer, who is decidedly less chic than Laura Dern in Marriage Story, when she presents you with various custody schedules that are so complex, a Nobel-winning astrophysicist must have invented them. And you’re paying five hundred dollars an hour for this. 0/10
In a pitch meeting about user experience when the client asks about “journeys” and “paths.” You misunderstand and spend twelve career-damaging minutes talking about your ayahuasca retreat. 6/10
Getting a free sample at Costco and thinking, if those culinary geniuses at Jimmy Dean can marry a sausage and a pancake, maybe there’s hope for you to find love again too. 8/10
In the closet, embracing cleaning supplies. Privacy, at last. Plus, that mop won’t make you try and articulate your feelings. 10/10
At Medieval Times, gnawing on a turkey leg. You used to love it here, but now the final joust between the black and red knight just hits a little too close to home. 3/10
At your gynecologist’s, where you realize this is the last chance at penetration you’ll have until you financially recover from that crypto scam and feel brave enough to download Hinge again. 4/10
Watching the latest season of Love Is Blind, on the couch, by yourself. They’re all so full of hope, and you’re just full of fast food and gas. 5/10
In your couple’s therapist’s office, rehashing the past. Like no one has ever cried in a therapist’s office before? This is amateur. 1/10
On a boat, where you’re on a boat. Things could be so much worse. 10/10