Then it happened: the two-hour dry humping make out session that kept us both wanting more. See! She really was wrecking my new life of ladies that took so long to build.

Car payment, student loans, rent. Rattlesnakes in the yard, hairy spiders in my shower. . . . None of this equaled happy, and yet I had never been more in love, or less willing to face the truth that the relationship was dead.

I was thinking next time I go, I should just park it at the bar and do shots for every ex that comes in. And then an extra one for the new soul mate I was sure to meet that night.

Kiss me, I try to tell him telepathically. Kiss me. Nothing. Are you really going to make me go through the motions of making the bed, when we both know what’s supposed to happen next? This is absurd! You’re going to fucking Iraq — KISS ME.