Turns out ghosting a toxic friend isn’t healthy for *either* person
If my life were a comically-sad Bridget Jones vignette, a pivotal scene would take place in a Burger King, eating a Whopper by myself while “Alone Again (Naturally)” by Gilbert O’Sullivan pipes softly from shoddy speakers in the water-stained ceiling and I mourn a broken friendship.
Jen* and I became besties at warp speed after realizing we had the same sense of humour (i.e. butt jokes *insert Beavis and Butthead laugher here*), similar upbringings, moms with the same name (that holds weight!) and a cynical outlook. And, according to the stars, our signs were a perfect match. It was simpatico—while it lasted.
We were together nearly every day for that fast and furious year of friendship in our 20s. Our time was spent binging David Attenborough-narrated docs…