I take myself to a safe haven such as an Anthropologie or a Forever 21. It is there I can collect myself, gather my thoughts and buy a saltshaker in the shape of a bird or a piece of jewelry that will break before I get back to my car.
I laugh all the way to the bank. Where I take out more money than I should and run amok buying weird things like an elliptical machine or an at-home s'mores maker.
I stand up, march over to the stylist, look her dead in the eye and say, "I love it." Then I empty out my wallet for her tip. What? I hate conflict!
Disturbed as I was, I immediately drove three girlfriends and myself to TGI Fridays, where we ordered chicken fingers, fries with BBQ sauce and cookie pie. That proved to be a gateway to laughter and to the restroom.
I would take a laid-back, easy-breezy approach. For instance, I would text, "Hey, you! Is your phone working??!?" Followed by, "Sooo… we still getting married?" When he still wouldn't reply, I would take that as a sign: humor is working! I'd then hop in my used Infiniti, drive to his house and sit on the stoop with a Starbucks until he arrived home with someone else, and then I would make a public scene. Actually, don't take this advice.
I don't get up quickly and look back from whence I came, I go the other way — by sprawling out all over the sidewalk, clutching myself in pain and wailing full tilt in my "ugly cry." Basically, I make people feel too bad to laugh.
I make an over-exaggerated frown/sad face and proceed to talk in a baby voice, saying, "Me feel sad now!" Then I stomp around like a toddler and get on my hands and knees and fake cry, "Wahhhh! Casey not mean make you mad!" People sigh heavily and give up.
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