November 9, 2008

TORONTO, ONTARIO -- (Mediawire – Nov. 9, 2008) -
Later this afternoon, I will initiate an ugly public breakup in front of dozens of smirking teenagers and bewildered Asian tourists. Among the grievances I will outline, at a volume that would make my mother ashamed and that I’m sure to later regret, are my girlfriend’s perfunctory mood swings, her inability to appreciate the subtle genius of early Wu-Tang Clan, and her compulsive propensity towards buyer’s remorse after even the most straightforward of purchases.

"Be honest with yourself,” I’ll say. “This is going fucking nowhere."

We will both know on some level that this was coming. Our relationship has been a steaming cauldron of malignant sludge ever since that time she caught me in the tool shed rifling through her text messages. I maintain I was looking for the correct spelling of "onomatopoeia." One way or another, when I tell her buzz off, things will go boom.

My girlfriend, doubly burdened by a disintegrating relationship and questionable new set of dish towels, will look up at me with tears plummeting down her face like they worked at the World Trade Centre. At that moment, my resolve will wilt and collapse and die. It will feel like a black hole opened up inside my chest. That’s when I’ll realize, late as usual, that I fucked things up — big time.

DATE:
Sunday, November 9, 2008

TIME:
3:37 p.m. – Pointed questions and cross-examination
3:54 p.m. – Official breakup
3:59 p.m. – Teary-eyed sprint to the bathroom, third stall on the left
5:36 p.m. – Headlong plunge into six weeks of aggressive alcohol abuse

LOCATION:
Taco Villa line-up, Eaton Centre food court, 220 Yonge St.

COST:
My dignity

CONTACT INFORMATION:
Nick Aveling
416-555-3117
Email: nickaveling@oops.ca