Why I Broke Up With Taylor Swift

A lot of people ask me why I broke up with Taylor Swift. I understand their surprise. I'm just a mild-mannered claims adjuster from Cleveland, and she's the world's preeminent popstar.
This post was published on the now-closed HuffPost Contributor platform. Contributors control their own work and posted freely to our site. If you need to flag this entry as abusive, send us an email.

A true story

A lot of people ask me why I broke up with Taylor Swift. I understand their surprise. I'm just a mild-mannered claims adjuster from Cleveland, and she's the world's preeminent popstar. One day, she's in Berlin performing for a crowd of 100,000, and I'm in Wichita investigating a fender bender between two Toyota Camrys. What are the odds? Really! Two Toyota Camrys, both beige.

Mathematically speaking, our romance had as much chance of working out as those cars did in colliding. The whole thing was risky from the start. Someone was going to get hurt. That's just how high-stakes claim adjustment romance works.

Right away, Taylor had very strong feelings for me. Honestly, it wasn't a total shock. Women appreciate a man who understands and avoids risk. Poor T-Swift had it bad for me, though.

Almost instantly she started talking about how everything had changed or how enchanted she felt. One time, we were playing mini golf and she said, "You belong with me," right as I was about to go for a birdie. Come on! I needed that shot. I appreciated the sentiment, but it totally messed up my projected score for the night.

2016-02-19-1455894483-1434543-morgan3.png

That's not to say I didn't have feelings for her. Tay appealed to me on a lot of levels, but she just wasn't my dream girl. Sure, she was beautiful, successful and good at social media, but I was a young claims adjuster out on the prowl. Statistically, I could sleep with 2.84 other women before settling down and marrying. No math man could ignore those numbers.

In truth, I went out with Taylor as a favor to a friend.

I'd just gotten over a serious relationship with a spicy little actuary and I wasn't all that eager to jump back into the dating scene. After some persuading, I agreed to give it a chance, because chance was the actual name of my game. Things went well and got serious pretty quickly. We spent 28.4 percent of our free time together. I enjoyed it, but things took a bad turn when the tabloids discovered our blossoming romance.

Over night, my face appeared on every major magazine in the country -- "Tay's New Bay", "Swift Swoops Random Nobody", and "Swizzles New Dude Does Not Sizzle." The spotlight overwhelmed me. Plus, I didn't need anymore attention after being named the Central Midwest Junior Claims Adjuster of The Month.

2016-02-19-1455894543-629147-morgan2.jpeg

It sort of went downhill from there. It had nothing to do with T-Swizzle. I liked her, but the collateral chaos from dating a celebrity started affecting my personal life. One day, distracted and tired from an all night flight from Paris, I didn't properly collate files for a high-profile seat belt claim. Later in that same week, I found myself with an untucked shirt.

Who was I becoming? The fame and notoriety had gone to my head and left me a reckless statistics maverick. I had to end it.

The time came during our stay at her Italian villa on the Amalfi Coast. Taylor was shooting song ideas by me and I was giving my usual feedback -- songs with harpsichord rock, your stage performers should be on stilts, and a duet with David Hasselhoff would crush it. As she pondered this advice, I started to confess, but before I could get it out, Tay Tay jumped on top of me and stared into my eyes.

Then she did something I had not anticipated. She asked me to marry her. Lordy! My head reeled from the sheer improbability and dumb luck of it all. I couldn't say yes, so I did the gentlemanly thing and requested a few weeks to compile a comprehensive report. She was ecstatic. Then, she wanted to make love. What had I done to deserve this torture? That night I had to fake several orgasms to keep the charade alive. I was miserable and even cried a few teardrops onto her guitar.

2016-02-19-1455894483-1434543-morgan3.png

Two weeks later, on our way to Tokyo for a whiskey tasting with Maroon 5, I delivered my powerpoint regarding her proposal. The outcome : It wasn't a true love story -- 98.2 percent certainty. From a mathematical standpoint, our proposed marriage would never work.

Adam Levine nodded in agreement, but for some reason, Tay couldn't see the logic. She asked if there was any way we might make it work and I said, no, "we are never ever getting back together." There was a 0 percent chance. She locked herself in the bathroom and wrote a song. It turned out to be a big hit.

The world revolves around odds and oddities. One day you're driving down the road and PLOW a semi crushes your Chevy Malibu. Other days, you're eating fondue with Taylor Swift in the Swiss Alps. That's just the way the world works.

A lot of people ask me, "Would you do it again?" and all I can do is smile. The chances of that happening are astronomically slim. It was our love story for a while. Unfortunately, it ended like all love stories do, aboard a private jet with Maroon 5. She knew I was trouble, but like a lot of people, she played the game of chance and came up short.

This post originally appeared on Medium.

Popular in the Community

Close

What's Hot