Illustration by Bob AulI should have known you were a loser when you started talking marriage after a single week. I should have known that crying, shaking, begging and throwing fits aren't courtship—they're signs you need professional help. I should have known that a best man at a wedding who doesn't know why he's best man is a bad sign. But I thought I might actually save your lost soul. I thought if I continued to spend my money to feed your fat ass, pay most of the rent, give you a nice car, and use my connections to set you up in your own store that you would be happy. But you'll never be happy. After 10 months of listening to you accuse me of cheating on you, of enduring your bra checks because you thought I might sneak out without one, of having no life except my miserable existence with you—after all that, I finally got smart and left. I know it's easier for you to tell people that I cheated on you than to accept the fact that you simply suck. I know that you like to act like you dumped me. But the truth is you begged me to come back for a year until you found out that I was happily involved with a wonderful man. Now that every pathetic attempt to ruin that relationship has failed, you continue to bad-mouth me to whomever will listen. But they hate you, too—hate you as much as you hate yourself. Move on, “Mr. CEO of My Own Muscle-Head Store.” “Happily ever after” is life without you.
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