I used a safety pin to poke holes in all his condoms.

I smashed all his wine glasses and put shards of glass in his bed.  I kicked his bicycle and keyed his car. I looked for his favourite shirt intending to rip it to shreds, but couldn’t find it. And before I left, I dragged his toothbrush around the edge of the toilet bowl.

I did all these things because of Becky’s phone call:

“Hey, its me, I’m at Benny’s for a work dinner thing and Curt and Margaret are at the bar making out like teenagers. They seem pretty drunk, I think you better get down here.”

Of all the days that bastard could do something like this to me – with my best friend no less while I’m sitting at his place waiting for him. Hoping he’ll come through with flowers, tickets to something, dinner reservations, any little sign that he actually gives a shit.

So after doing all those things, I got in the car and sped off to Benny’s to confront the man I thought I loved and the best friend I thought I could trust.

The froofy Maître’d asks if he can help. “Only if you have a baseball bat,” I say as I brush past him and storm into the lounge.

Right away I spot Curt at the bar wearing his favourite shirt, grinning like an idiot, laughing with Margaret. And it’s ages after the whole room shouts “Surprise” that I realize.

Whole minutes tick by while I try to make sense of the familiar faces smiling at me, hugging me, patting me on the back. And then Curt is next to me, wishing me happy birthday with a bouquet of flowers and open arms expecting a hug.

I want to kill him and kiss him all at once.  I accept his embrace and whisper in his ear:

“Do you mind if we stay at my place tonight?”

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