I think we could classify it as a ‘bad breakup’.
Not that I’ve had the experience of one before. Unless you count an incident at University when I watched through the window of a late-night chippy as a fellow student*, jumped all over my defenceless but, unfortunately for it, highly recognisable, bike. The previous day I’d confirmed that “no, we definitely aren’t meant to be together”, after a long-petitioned-for trial week of dating.
I’d been dreading the phone call but, in the end it had to happen. Best to do it by phone I thought. After the conversation we’d had before Builder #4 went on holiday where he indicated that he would have difficulty finishing the internal works, I had eventually got confirmation that Builder#3 could complete the work and turn it round quickly.
So made the call. It took a few deep breaths beforehand and an extremely brisk walk in the park afterwards.
The call got a little messy but I suppose at least there was no cat to fight over. Although I am publishing this many weeks on, with the house nearly complete, his large circular saw is still clogging up the place. And his caravan-related rubbish is still strewn over the site.
Anyway, a messy break up, you could say. But one moves on.
And now I’m back where I would have been many months ago if I hadn’t so foolishly dumped Builder#3 for Builder#4, but probably poorer, and definitely more stressed.
*incidentally we remain good friends to this day, despite the damage my bike sustained that evening.