Breaking Up is Hard to Do

PART I

“I love you,” she said. Unfortunately for my relationship, and the next couple of hours in my short, finite existence, I wasn’t paying attention to Stacy. Instead I was speaking loudly into a plastic clown head. “Um, yeah. I’ll have a #6 with cheese, and a #2 plain.” I turn to Stacy and ask, “You said plain, right?”

My only response is her look that says “You’re the world’s biggest prick.” Every woman has such a look, and every woman’s is different. Yet no matter what man receives this look, even if he has never met the enraged female, he understands the message.

My thoughts are then rudely interrupted by a jarbled “What drinks would choo like?”

I respond, “Two Pepsis,” and look back at Stacy. Then I make a mistake most innocent young males make when receiving the international prick glare. I look directly into her eyes. Normally, I find her blue-green eyes pleasant, even radiant, when they’re in the right light. Not tonight. Looking into her eyes on this fateful evening was like looking at the nine circles of hell, and watching your parents fuck. It was painful and disturbing, not something I want to experience again.

Immediately I wip my head around and speak clearly into Banjo the Clown’s command hole, “Um… make one of those diet.” The mysterious stranger responds back with the enthusiasm of a gay porn star about to get railed out minus the saving grace of lube, “$7.52… second window please.”

I gently press the gas and flow around the corner only to wait behind 3 other cars.

Before I have the chance to make a preemptive strike, Stacy lets loose a cruise missile of ball-kicking bitchiness. “You never listen to me.”

I fire off some quick stall flack hoping to buy myself some time. “What?” I say nonchalantly.

“I SAID I LOVE YOU!” Stacy yells.

At this point my life flashes before my eyes. Most of the time was spent whacking off.

“DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY BACK!?” she screams with all her 5’2” might.

My shields are down, hull breached and life support systems are failing. Thankfully, I have prepared for such an emergency. Computer, activate Plan Dave Alpha 1. “ZOH MY GOD STACY, look it’s Ryan Seacrest!”

During her second of distraction, I fling open my door and flee into the night like a prisoner breaking out of jail. Needless to say, I fell a lot, whether from my lack of athletic ability or from fear of a psycho woman running me down, I do not know. As I retreat, I hear a voice in my head, maybe God, telling me to never look back. My apartment is only 10 miles away, and besides, we only have been dating for 3 years anyway.

My escape did not work as planned. Not only did I not encounter the TARDIS, but my car was parked in front of my building. Well, parked is not quite the best description. A more accurate account would be that my car was smashed into the Residents Only sign, the driver side door left wide open, and still running. I hope that these careless errors are a result of Stacy’s uncontrollable female instinct to provide a warm meal to her significant other after his long, hard day of unemployment.

As I walk up the stairs to my third floor apartment, I ponder the dinner situation of lesbians. Do they simply take turns cooking dinner, or do they fight each other until they give in to their sexual urges, resulting in a 69 on the kitchen floor and then order take out?

I am snapped from my deep dike thoughts to find myself facing room 7C, my home. I have a sudden vision of me walking through my door only to find myself staring down a loaded 12 gauge, and Stacy itching to pull the trigger.

Fortunately for me, the only guns I own are of the Nerf variety.

PART II

I place my hand on the door to find that it’s unlocked. Slowly my vision is turning into a prophecy of doom.

After a few bouts of uncontrollable sobbing, I put on my war face and enter my humble abode. I grip the knob with enough force to turn it to the right, and I walk into the battleground. I am surprised to find not a single light turned on. I reach over to the left and flick the switch. Immediately the lights come on and I am forced to throw my battle plan out the window. Stacy’s eyes are red, and tears are streaming down her beautiful tan cheek. Instantly my heart melts. I pray I’m not falling for some sort of Jedi Mind Trick.

“You don’t love me!” she wails. “Of course I do! I’ve loved you for the whole 3 years we’ve been dating!” I retort.

“We’ve only been dating 6 months you fucking loser!” she screams.

Technically, we’ve only been seeing each other for 6 months, but I start counting on the day we met 3 plus years ago at community college. She walked into Mr. Pearlman’s 057 English class with the grace of a cat and the beauty of an angel. She was a siren, and I had heard her call. Shortly after that fateful day, we started running into each other in a way that could only be described as fate. It seemed that everywhere I stalked her, our paths crossed. It was destiny. Six months after the day I saw her was our next milestone – the day she learned my name. She said, “Hey, Dave.” Those were the 2 most beautiful words anyone has ever said to me. I will never forget them. After that, my memory starts to get hazy; I started playin’ World of Warcraft.

Anyway, a couple of months went by and we slowly became friends. Then after another year and a half, and the release of Burning Crusade, we started dating.

I try to explain my version of our history to her, but she just cries more and says I love World of Warcraft more than I love her. Finally, after 30 minutes of screaming and looking up the word Love in the dictionary twice, I break the creepy truth to her.

“Stacy! I’ve loved you since the day you sat down in Mr. Pearlman’s class. I stalked you for 6 months!” I yell in frustration.

She stops crying and looks up at me.

“Really?” she asks hopefully. “Really,” I say.

She leaps out of her chair into my arms yelling, “OH MY GOD THAT’S SO CUTE! Let’s move in together!”

The End