Just when you had your apartment decorated exactly the way you like, you have to go and set everything on fire because she’s gone.
“She sat on the couch,” you tell your friend, Jedd, who was cool enough to pick you up some kerosene and chicken soup (you have a cold). “She slept on the bed. She used to look in that mirror. She gave me that ottoman.”
“She gave you an ottoman?” Jedd asks.
“Yeah, she gave me an ottoman,” you answer. “She never put her things in the dresser. That’s gotta go too.”
“But she never put her things in it,” Jedd says.
“Yeah, so every time I look at it I have to remember how I offered her a drawer in my dresser and she’d just scrunch up her nose as if I was being cute, but she never left so much as a pair of socks. Splash some on the dresser. And this ice cube tray.”
Jedd obliges, dousing the dresser and ice cube tray in kerosene.
“She loved ice,” you tell him.
“You’re too sentimental,” Jedd says, covering all your possessions in kerosene.
“Just hurry,” tell him. “I have to light the match before Mrs. Wallingford smells the kerosene and realizes I’ve been dumped again and tries to set me up with her daughter.”
Jedd says that you need to wall off your heart more, that you shouldn’t have to set everything you own on fire every time someone breaks up with you. Love doesn’t have to be like that.
“Shut up, Jedd,” you say. Then you light the match.
Happy This Is Why You Can’t Have Not-On-Fire Things Day!
