While the rest of us are stress eating pizza every time a New York Times alert pings on our phone (or is that just me?), Glow-bama is living his best life. And as much as I want to cry about the unfairness of it all — why does he get to move on when I can’t?! — I have to feel happy for our Barry. He went through hell and back for us, and now he’s free. So to our very own Glow-bama, I’ll say the same thing I’d say to a recently single friend after one-too many glasses of wine: You do you, girl. Forget that jerk you left in your wake. Homeboy doesn’t even know how to do his hair. You. Do You.