A year ago today the Sicilian dumped me on my lunch hour. We went to lunch, we argued over something stupid, we went into the King Student Union building and broke up in a conference room. I sniffled my way through the rest of the day and promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone. “I don’t need their pity,” I thought, then emailed the Lad in Germany with the news to get some sympathy. That night I went out on a date with Frank so of course I had to tell him. The next day I called in sick because I felt it would be dramatically appropriate and so had to tell my folks, since I was living with them. That night I came into Berkeley for Sushi’s birthday dinner at the (now tragically out of business) Lotus and since I didn’t want to ruin the day for her I immediately told her and Nuala while staring straight ahead in a wounded manner. I really wanted this to be an evening all about Sushi, since it was her birthday and she is my best friend, so I waited until a lull in the conversation at dinner before I stood up, tapped the side of my free soda with Jacob’s fork and made the announcement to all the patrons of the restaurant. I followed it with a snazzy singing number about heartbreak, then led my fellow diners into the street for a coordinated dance routine.
It’s a year later now and I feel fine. But if I didn’t, who would know? For you know I never complain.
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