Illustration for article titled Cardi Bs Breakup Announcement, Decoded by a Serial Ex-Boyfriend
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The day we were all expecting has arrived, folks.

After more than a year of smiling through an array of fuck-ups and alleged side-babies, Cardi B has announced her split from husband and Migos id, Offset.


Parents to daughter Kulture Kiari, Cardi and Offset’s love has been as volatile as it was swift. Cardi’s loyalty to her man saw her bewilder her sizable LGBTQ+ fanbase by jumping in front of darts thrown his way after homophobic slurs, while rumors of infidelity left some to challenge the merits of Cardi, the rare standalone overnight overnight success, hitching her wagon to the McHale of the Migos’ Big Three.


Cardi, loved by many for a personality as loud as her inside voice, took the tactful route in announcing their split.

Which is boring, if you ask me.

As a former serial ex-boyfriend/situation/outside dick, I’ve been around the block enough times to hear the petty in even the most considered of Dear John letters. As a guy whose decision to spill the beans on an interracial relationship saw his then-girlfriend written out of her millionaire grandmother’s last will and testament, I, too, have fucked up hard enough to earn a polite, measured eviction notice from the property manager of my lover’s heart.

All that fiery, loud-talking Bronx anger we all secretly want-but-don’t-want-but-deadass-want to see from Cardi is there. All we need is a little, ahem, editorializing to get to it:

“Everybody been bugging me and everything”:

I got my makeup done so my countenance would match the radiant joy I feel inside. Why am I so happy? I’m leaving my dickhead husband. And I need you to see exactly how unbothered I am by the shit I’m about to tell you. You hear this hushed tone befitting a woman in scrubs asking a teenager if they’ve been sexually active? I’m not pressed. Not. Pressed.


“You know, I’ve been trying to work things out with my baby father for a hot minute now”:

I’ve been out here playing the loyal role, riding for my man like every dusty-looking rapper says I should. He dropped a homophobic slur? Still my man. When he had me out here looking crazy? Still my man. When he shot a whole video to bring back the casual ‘70s assistant principal motif? Still my man.


“...and we’re really good friends”: 

He’s not the worst person in the world. His impression of my grandmother is hilarious. My mom loved that he’s thinking about law school. Still, if you see him, tell him I will injure him if he brings his ass to the house for Christmas. And I don’t care if my Uncle Winston invited him; we don’t tell him shit, his kids are dirty. You would befriend the uncle with the dirty-ass kids. I hate you.


“...and we’re really good business partners”:

He’s not an idiot idiot, just a relationship idiot. If there’s money to be made, hit my line. Even better if I don’t have to see or touch or speak to him to make it.


“...and he’s always somebody that I run to talk to and we’ve got a lot of love for each other”:

I am a millionaire with endorsements and goodwill at stake, and as such cannot be bothered to wish folks serious bodily harm or emotional distress on the internet (anymore). For this reason, I will not disclose what could happen to my ex were I to see him, say, in my mother’s living room on Christmas day. Still, while this is all really sad and hard, we were and are friends. You won’t catch me out here throwing dirt on his name.


“...but things just haven’t been working out between us for a long time”:

Still, I’ve grown tired of the monocle emoji whenever someone brings him up in the group chat. I’m tired of telling my mom he’s still working at the Globe. No one should like ABBA as much as he does. I can’t watch Akira anymore. Not even one more time. And who doesn’t eat mashed potatoes? Anyway, yeah, it’s over. Over like it should’ve been when he got that girl pregnant.


“...and it’s nobody fault it’s just like, I guess we grew out of love”:

Oh, and it’s definitely his fault. It was his fault when he showed up trashed to meet my dad. It was his fault when he hotboxed my little brother’s room with my little brother. How can someone with a college degree who rhymes words for a living be so stupid?


“But we’re not together anymore”:

I can’t do it anymore. It’s over for that now. It’s a wrap. Maybe it was the dancing in the Whitney video, I can’t call it.


“ might take time to get a divorce”:

But it won’t be for lack of trying. Trust me. 

“...but I’m gonna always have a lot of love for him because he is my daughter’s father”:

We’ve got history. One of us might finagle some closure sex out of this. But that’s fine. Like I said, he’s not the worst person in the world. He’s a great guy when he’s not being a goddamn clown, and I know he’ll make someone really happy. I do hope we can be friends one day, because we do have a good time whenever we link up, so long as it’s drama free.


“...and yeah!”: 

I still deleted you as a contact, my nigga.

Contributing Editor. When he's not pullin' up, he's usually jumpin' out. You can find him in the cut.

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