Heartbreak is curable in a way that, say, being struck by a meteorite is not. You will eventually get over it. While it’s true that it once took me two years to get over a bloke I’d never met – Davy Jones, lead singer of the Monkees, when I was prepubescent – I did recover.
But how do you cope when the United Nations declares your love life a disaster area? Back in the ’80s, when a Melbourne boyfriend of mine turned out to be married, I secreted some prawns into the hollow curtain rail of his Sydney pied-à-terre.
A girlfriend lived across the road, which meant I could watch through binoculars as this duplicitous love rat went mad looking for the source of the odour. He took up the carpet and tore off the wallpaper. No longer able to bear the pong, he eventually moved out. From a safe distance, I then watched in gleeful joy as the removalists packed his curtains, including the rail. Mind you, I could have simply drowned the fiend by putting a mirror on the bottom of his jacuzzi.
Couples who separate these days are behaving with much more decorum. Break-up registries are becoming the norm. Once the preserve of newlyweds, gift registries were a practical way to make sure couples had enough pots and pans to see them through married life.
But after research showed that 50 per cent of Gen Z and Millennials think break-ups should have their own rituals, online marketplace Etsy has added an option for break-up registries. For $80, you can buy a candle with a life-affirming message to your ex such as “I will always wax lyrical about you”, “A reminder of how hot you are!” and other equally heart-warming parting thoughts.
Relationship expert Vicki Pavitt puts the popularity of break-up registries down to the realisation that relationship implosions aren’t small life events but a “significant emotional transition that deserves care and support”.
A lot of support in the case of London’s Shoreditch Virgin Hotel, which will happily take £660 ($1250) off you to stay in a “break-up suite” filled with flowers, cake and an “empowerment playlist” of break-up classics by Aretha Franklin and Cher designed to inspire “moving on, not making up”. The stay is supposed to satisfy a need for “self-investment” – and well, let’s face it, you’ll have no money left to invest in anything else after such a splurge.
While we have so many ceremonies to celebrate beginnings – engagements, weddings, baby showers – there’s almost nothing to get us through endings, apart from funerals.
KATHY LETTE
Other retailers are also cashing in on the fact that fast-paced modern dating involves more fresh starts than for previous generations. British cake companies report a big rise in orders with messages such as “finally free” and “new chapter”.
After a half-baked relationship, I’d be more inclined to order a customised piñata of his face than a fancy pastry. But while we have so many ceremonies to celebrate beginnings – engagements, weddings, baby showers – there’s almost nothing to get us through endings, apart from funerals. A break-up registry allows friends and family to show support as you grieve the death of your relationship.
OK, it’s a sweet idea. Still, I prefer the time-honoured, traditional methods of getting over someone who has betrayed you. Try turning his bathroom scales up a few kilos – the best revenge on a weight-conscious egotist. Or secretly fill his shampoo bottle with hair remover. Empty his wine collection. Cut the crotch out of every bespoke suit.
And if your husband has traded you in for a younger model, encourage your kids to take up the recorder, bagpipes or drums and store their instruments at their father’s place so they have something to play when staying over at the cosy new love nest.
Whether you opt for cleaning the toilet with his toothbrush or the more dignified break-up registry, ending a relationship is a romantic emergency. My favourite survival tip is to give up chocolate; you’ll miss the chocolate so much you won’t miss him at all.
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Kathy Lette‘s latest best seller “The Revenge Club” is published by Bloomsbury.Connect via X.
