(Word to my mother: this isn't my PMS confession. I don't have a boyfriend and I don't smoke. Also, my crying candy of choice is Milk Duds.)
When I got home from work and I saw him sitting on the computer, chatting with his ex girlfriend, I swear I thought I was going to have a coronary. That might have been all of the fried chicken I'd consumed earlier catching up to me, but STILL.
I stood there with my hands on my hips, waiting for him to notice that I'D noticed, but all he did was sit there, laughing at her (probably) corny jokes, and typing away like a madman.
Me: "What do you think you're doing? Why are you talking to this girl?"
Him: "We're friends... you know... maybe you should get a few of your own."
That, my friends, is when I completely lost it. I ran to the kitchen, lit a cigarette on the gas range (I was having a hard time finding a lighter or matches anywhere around), and started crying. After I finished smoking, I went upstairs to cry some more. I wanted him to come upstairs right away and tend to my womanly needs, but of course he remained glued to his chair, enraptured by his evil ex.
When he finally did get upstairs, I broke up with him. Well, actually, it went more like this.
Me: Why are we together? I mean, what's the point of being in a relationship with you when all you're going to do is treat me like crap? I don't know... I don't know...
Him: Uh... babe... do you want some tea or something? I mean, I know it's "that time of the month..."
I started bawling like a baby in his arms, mumbling incoherently (he later told me that I was complaining about there not being enough chocolate in the house). Later on, I "broke up" with him again. Pretty much the same, only a much harsher verbal attack.
Me: "I can't stand you sometimes. I wish you'd just grow up! I can't be with my SON."
Him: "What are you going on about? We don't have any kids yet, sweetie."
Me: "Just...Why don't you do something useful and run down to the pronto mart. Chocolate."
When he got back, holding a few of packages of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I still wasn't satisfied.
Me: "I TOLD YOU TO BRING ME ICE CREAM, TOO!"
Him: "No, actually, you didn't. Oh, and can I have some of your chocolate?"
I can't stand to be told I'm wrong - particularly when I'm dangerously menstrual - and the NERVE of him asking me to share my peanut butter cups! He should have known better. Clutching my chocolate to my chest like a madwoman, I took refuge in the bathroom upstairs (locking the door, of course), and ate all 12 reese's cups.
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