During one of those intimate, private cuddly moments lovers share, back in June, I had told her I have a weird love life frequency vis-a-vis my birthday. That I usually start dating women just before their birthdays are round the corner, that we celebrate the girl’s birthday in all aplomb, and by the time my birthday comes along, the relationship is usually over, and my birthday is ‘celebrated’ alone in the usual desperation/ frustration. She made a joke out of it and solemnly mentioned that she would make sure that didn’t happen this year.
It didn’t. She was with me all day, cooked for me, made me feel real good.
Then while she was breaking up with me in the beginning of August, she remembered to mention that she wanted to break up in June itself, but stayed on another month out of pity after having heard my pitiful tale.
I guess I should be thankful that she didn’t screw up my birthday. I was.
But she killed me with the pity.