Dumping A Boyfriend Quotes

The problem exactly is that she dumped me. That I'm alone. Oh my God, I'm alone again. And not only that, but I'm a total failure in case you haven't noticed. I'm washed up. I'm former. Formerly the boyfriend of Katherine XIX. Formerly a prodigy. Formerly full of potential. Currently full of shit.

But if your boyfriend, out of nowhere and with no advance warning whatsoever, dumps you for no apparent reason, is it really about you? Or is it all him?

And this is my life, getting dumped with no warning. Or liking people who don't like me back, or who don't like me enough, or not as much as they like someone else.

Please don’t hate you??!! I hate that I love you. Loving you made me waste a year of my life. Loving you made me be passionate about nothing but you. Loving you made me take risks I never would have otherwise. Loving you made me give it up to you. Loving you made me neglect my parents and Amy. Loving you made me not care that my grandma just died. Loving you made me turn out bitter and hopeless like her. Loving you made me hate myself for being dumped by you. Loving you made me deluded, irrational, inconsiderate, and a liar. And because I love you, you’re always going to haunt me.

What are you doing?" he breathed. "You're going around, stirring up everything." "I've got time on my hands," I shot back, just as breathless, "since I dumped my asshat boyfriend." He growled, fiercely passionate, his hand in my hair pulling so tightly it pained me. "You can't make this up with a kiss or a f*ck, Gideon. Not this time." Gideon & Eva

And why had Deb's last boyfriend dumped her? I dumped him. Maybe you didn't French-kiss him enough. I promise you that wasn't it. Tell me how many times a day you kissed, and I'll say if it was enough. Four hundred. Not enough.

We haven’t even been dating an hour yet and you already want to dump me? Am I not very good at this boyfriend thing?

My boyfriend dumped me. My best friend won't talk to me. My future is in a garbage can. Everything has turned to crap. Can you please just let me be a sullen teenager. just this once

My boyfriend recently asked me to marry him. I said yes. He’s the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever known. Problem is, the diamond he gave me was smaller than I hoped for. I don’t really want to hurt his feelings. I need to know a polite way to express my disappointment. –Lori, Manhattan   God has the same dilemma when it comes to you, sweetheart. P.S. When your fiancé dumps your selfish ass, give him my number.   Answering

Face it. There's not going to be a happy ending... at least not with this hero. So don't go mooning around thinking that your breakup is only the crisis before the big romantic scene, because I'm here to tell you that it's not. When you are dumped, you are dumped, and the guy isn't going to change his mind and realize that suddenly he loves you instead of that girl he's flirting with in lunchroom, now that he's free.

Please don’t hate you??!! I hate that I love you. Loving you made me waste a year of my life. Loving you made me be passionate about nothing but you. Loving you made me take risks I never would have otherwise. Loving you made me give it up to you. Loving you made me neglect my parents and Amy. Loving you made me not care that my grandma just died. Loving you made me turn out bitter and hopeless like her. Loving you made me hate myself for being dumped by you. Loving you made me deluded, irrational, inconsiderate, and a liar. And because I love you, you’re always going to haunt me. I’ll never be able to have another birthday without wondering how you’re celebrating yours. I’ll never be able to think another guy is more handsome, talented, intelligent, or worth loving than you, despite all your faults (and there are many). I’ll never be able to check my e-mail without praying I’ll find a message from you with the subject line I love you, Dom—please come back to me. Meanwhile, every corner of this city is laced with memories of us together, and I’ll never be able to leave the house without hoping and dreading that I’ll run into you. You stole Fort Myers from me, and I lived here first, you fucking thief. You actually may be one of my last thoughts when I die.

It wasn't until Kiffney-Brown, when I met Jason Talbot, that I really thought I might actually have one of those boyfriend kind of stories to tell the next time I got together with my old friends. Jason was smart, good-looking, and seriously on the rebound after his girlfriend at Jackson dumped him for, in his words, 'a juvenile delinquent welder with a tattoo'.

didn’t even know what I was crying over. I’d had an argument with a father I didn’t remember and been dumped by a guy I wasn’t dating. Neither of those things should have hurt.

I review my three boyfriends, the three men I slept with in my twenties, searching for a common thread. Nothing. No consistent features, coloring, stature, personality. But one theme does emerge: they all picked me. And then dumped me. I played the passive role. Waiting for Hunter and then settling for Joey. Waiting to feel more for Nate. Then waiting to feel less. Waiting for Alec to go away and leave me in peace. And now Dex. My number four. And I am still waiting. For all of this to blow over. For his September wedding. For someone who gives me that tingly feeling as I watch him sleeping in...

If life is like a box of chocolates, then mine is the mother of all coffee creams. You know – the ones that always get left in the box because no one wants them?

You can't live with the idea that someone might leave. So instead of being happy for me, like any normal person, you're pissed off because ooh, oh no, Hassan doesn't like me anymore. You're such a sitzpinkler. You're so goddamned scared of the idea that someone might dump you that your whole fugging life is built around not gettting left behind. Well, it doesn't work, kafir. I just - it's not just dumb, it's ineffective. Because then you're not being a good friend or a good boyfriend or whatever, because you're only thinking they-might-not-like-me-they-might-not-like-me, and guess what? When you act like that, no one likes you. There's your goddamned Theorem.

You should dump me." "I tried that already. It didn’t take.

Lately, I am receiving numerous calls each night from telemarketers. They're calling with the frequent urgency of dumped boyfriends. At this point, I cannot help but wonder, is the entire telemarketing industry one big, jilted, clingy gay guy?

'It's not you, it's me.' 'Oh God. That's exactly what my last three boyfriends said when they dumped me. Is it in the Y-Chromosome User's Manual or something?' He grinned. 'On page five. But, you know, don't tell anyone I told you.'

One of the pitfalls of having an ex-boyfriend is that people still pair you together in their memories, and sooner or later someone’s bound to mention him. And now that it has happened . . . I can’t say I feel nothing. I don’t think it’s possible to get royally dumped by the only boy I’ve ever done it with, let alone loved, and then feel nothing when he’s brought up in conversation.

That’s it, Red, get mad. That’s the girl I know. I don’t know the other girl who walks around like a ghost,” he says angrily, “The girl who has given up everythin’ that was ever important to her just ‘cuz her boyfriend dumped her.” “I’m sorry I haven’t been yer friend. I’m sorry I busted the firewall ya bought me… and I’m sorry yer heart got broken,

I know you’re probably regretting our fake relationship pretty hard right now, but please don’t dump me again.

A girl won't dump the boy she loves, she dumps the boy she were using.

I thought it was no wonder Wendy had dumped me. Her new boyfriend went to Dartmouth and played lacrosse. Her old one was spending the summer in a third-tier amusement park. Where he played a dog.

My boyfriend recently asked me to marry him. I said yes. He’s the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever known. Problem is, the diamond he gave me was smaller than I hoped for. I don’t really want to hurt his feelings. I need to know a polite way to express my disappointment. –Lori, Manhattan God has the same dilemma when it comes to you, sweetheart. P.S. When your fiancé dumps your selfish ass, give him my number.

You want me to be your boyfriend, don’t you?” Puck taunted. His wings suddenly popped out of his back and he swooped over to Sabrina. Before she knew how to react, the boy kissed her on the lips. A million thoughts ran through Sabrina’s head at once. Puck was annoying. He had dumped her in vats of disgusting glop. He’d put creepy crawlers in her bed. But the most awful thought of them all was the one about the kiss—it was nice.

Caddy came home on Friday evening. Perfectly Harmless Patrick brought her in his battered old car... "Crikey, Caddy!" said Indigo, and he disappeared upstairs to tell Rose. Eve murmured, "Sweet," rather doubtfully. Sarah said, not doubtfully at all, "Horrendous! The worst yet. Rock bottom." "He had a very difficult childhood," said Caddy.... "Who didn't?" asked Saffron unsympathetically. "Gosh, he's ancient, Caddy! Look, he's going bald! All that long trailing stuff is just a disguise!" "If I was going bald," said Sarah, "I would face the fact and have it all shaved off." "Well, I thought Mummy would like him," said Caddy defensively. "...Anyway, I can always take him back." "I think you're going to have to, Caddy darling," said Eve... "Hello, Rose darling! Come in and see what Caddy has brought home to show us!" She escaped, and Rose, who had already heard the news from Indigo, glanced at Patrick and began laughing. "See?" said Sarah. "Rose knows! Absolutely rock bottom! You cannot be serious, Caddy!" "Oh, stop looking at him!" said Caddy, uncomfortably. "I'll find something to cover him up with in a minute!" "How long are you leaving him there for?" asked Rose. "Just until Sunday," said Caddy, trying to sound casual. "Till Sunday!" repeated Saffron. "So is Micheal dumped?" "Of course he isn't!" said Caddy indignantly. "I've never dumped anyone!" "Start!" said Saffron. "Otherwise they just pile up, taking up the sofas...

One of the problems that people commonly have in their adult relationships if they have never received a firm commitment from their parents is the “I’ll desert you before you desert me” syndrome. This syndrome will take many forms or disguises. One form was Rachel’s frigidity. Although it was never on a conscious level, what Rachel’s frigidity was expressing to her husband and previous boyfriends was, “I’m not going to give myself to you when I know damn well that you’re going to dump me one of these days.” For Rachel, “letting go,” sexually or otherwise, represented

Trump is the perfect foil,” he summarized. “He’s the bad father, the terrible first husband, the boyfriend that fucked you over and wasted all those years, and [you] gave up your youth for, and then dumped you. And the terrible boss that grabbed you by the pussy all the time and demeaned you.

My mother says that falling in love and getting dumped is good for you because it prepares you for the real thing, like it gets you ready for true love and all, but I'm thinking it's more like climbing up he St. Louis Arch and falling off twice. Does he first fall really get you ready for the second?

Alternatively, if you don’t trust yourself, you might instruct the algorithm to follow the recommendation of whichever eminent psychologist you do trust. If your boyfriend eventually dumps you, the algorithm may walk you through the official five stages of grief, first helping you deny what happened by playing Bobby McFerrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy,” then whipping up your anger with Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know,” encouraging you to bargain with Jacques Brel’s “Ne Me Quitte Pas” and Paul Young’s “Come Back and Stay,” dropping you into the pit of depression with Adele’s “Someone Like You” and “Hello,” and finally helping you accept the situation with Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive.

She moved through therapists like she moved through boyfriends. She dumped both boyfriends and therapists when they offended her, enraged her, bored her. The boyfriends said she was a head case, a nut case, a drama queen, a psycho. The therapists said she had ADHD or OCD, depression or anxiety or most likely both, a nervous disorder, a mood disorder, a

You keep your horrible boyfriend around because you feel like shit, and he’s the only one around who agrees with you. He validates the part of you that thinks you deserve bad things instead of good things. When you start believing that you deserve good things, you’ll dump him because he won’t fit anymore. But for now, he treats you like shit because that’s what you want.

Then Simi had to call in a favor from her police boyfriend to track the vehicle..." Police boyfriend? Your brain sticks on those two words, and you don't hear anything else. "What police boyfriend?" "Shhh." Simi strokes your forehead. "The ambulance is coming." You shake your head, concentrate on not passing out from the pain of the damage to your rapidly thawing body. "How long?" "About twenty-four hours," she says. "That's it?" You try to push yourself up, but your arms still aren't listening to the messages from your brain. "You moved on in less than a day?" "It's not what you think," she says. "Garcia and I..." "Garcia? Not Detective Garcia? You're now on a last-name basis?" You don't care about your broken body or the necklace or the hench people. You don't even care if they've captured Mr. X or killed him. You care about Simi in a way you've never cared about anyone before. You love her. You love her and she dumped you in less than a day for someone far more worthy than you. A good guy. A man in uniform who doesn't live a life of secrets and lies. Pain washes over you. You close your eyes and let the words settle in your throat. Police boyfriend. Death. Come for me now.

Diversify Your Sources of Self-Esteem Another way to increase your resiliency is to diversify your sources of self-esteem. Just like putting all your money in a single stock is risky, putting all your self-esteem eggs in one basket is psychologically risky. If your self-esteem is almost entirely based on your career achievements, having a flat stomach, or how hot your boyfriend or girlfriend is, you’ll be at more risk of coming unstuck psychologically if your career stalls, you gain weight, or your hot boyfriend or girlfriend dumps you. You’ll feel less anxious if your self-esteem isn’t too closely tied to just one or two domains. Experiment: Self-esteem is composed of (1) a sense of self-worth and (2) a sense of being competent at things. For example, sources of self-worth might involve loving and being loved by others; an ability to make other people feel comfortable and at ease, or positive contributions you make to society, your field, or your community. In contrast, a sense of competency might come from being good at computer tasks, being able to prepare a dinner party for 10, or paying your bills on time. Try coming up with three sources of self-worth and three things you’re competent at. Aim to recognize areas you’ve tended to underappreciate.

Guy was going to self-terminate for any reason, he’d have finished putting his pajamas on and gotten into bed nice and comfy first. So means are foul. Where’s Sommers?” “I don’t know why they bother to keep me around here.” But he was grinning as he slid the brain into a tray for scan and analysis. “I expect the tox eval will verify both our suspicions shortly. Sommers is done, and in a cold box. Her family and boyfriend came in together this morning. I was able to block them from seeing her, though it wasn’t easy. I had to use official grounds.” “The eyes aren’t public yet, and I don’t want them to be, not even to next of kin. Even family and lovers can leak to the media. More so if they’re grieving or pissed. No access outside of need-to-know to any of the vics in this investigation.” “You want to see her again.” “Yeah.” “Let me clean up a bit. Our gentleman friend will hold.” He went to the sink to scrub blood, matter, and sealant from his hands. “Her body was more traumatized than the others.” “Violence is escalating. I know.” “So is his pace.” Morris dried his hands, then removed his protective gear, dumping it in a hamper. “We’re closer. Every minute, we’re closer.” “I have no doubt. Well.” He stepped over in his pristine blue shirt and red necktie, offered his arm. “Shall we?” She laughed, as only he could make her in the company of the

Since being dumped by my ex-boyfriend last year. Steven Michael Raleigh decided that finishing his MBA meant he needed a trophy wife who

I left the sadomasochist dump with a girl from the south of France named Simone. She was wearing a tight blue dress with red wine spilled down the front of it. She was so drunk, she didn't care. "Fuck it," she kept saying in English, "you know?" The tattooed doorman called out an endearment to us as we emerged for his cave... We linked arms and walked. Simone was talking about her new boyfriend, but I didn't listen. I was thinking about Lisa's shame at Naxos, trying to gloat. But Alex was right- even a young girls shame could be beautiful.

My God!” Sophia sat back, her eyes wide with horror. “It’s a drug! He’s drugging her and she doesn’t even know it.” Here we go. “It’s common knowledge that we’re genetic traders—the fact that we have more than one means to attract a mate of an entirely different species should come as no surprise,” he pointed out. “You…you cold blooded bastard.” Sophia shook her head. “Poor Liv—she has no idea what he’s doing to her.” “It wouldn’t matter even if she did,” Sylvan explained patiently, ignoring her insults. “The mating scent is too strong to fight, even with advanced warning. Stronger species than yours have tried and they have all failed. With very few exceptions.” He closed his eyes briefly thinking of Feenah, of her pure white hair and pale crystal eyes. I’m sorry, Sylvan… “It’s not right. You’re not fighting fair.” Sophia’s words pushed back the painful memory and Sylvan opened his eyes again to see the look of despair and anger on her lovely face. She looked almost on the brink of tears. Wonderful—she was even more upset and irrational than he had thought she would be. He supposed he ought to feel irritated. Instead, the illogical urge to hold and comfort her came over him so strongly that he had to sit back and cross his arms over his chest to keep from reaching for her. “I believe you humans have a saying that covers this—‘All’s fair in love and war.’ Is that right?” he said softly. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean—” Sylvan leaned forward again and took her soft, small hands between his own larger ones. “You must understand, Sophia—Baird isn’t trying to trick your sister into anything. He’s simply using every power at his disposal to keep her. Because he needs her—he loves her. She is the only woman in the entire universe for him and the bond that will form between them will be one of undying love and devotion.” “Maybe for him.” She looked down as though mesmerized by the sight of her own small hands being engulfed in his much larger ones. “But not for Liv. He’s going to trick her into having bonding sex with him —whatever that is—and then she’ll spend the rest of her life hating him once she finds out how he did it.” She looked up at Sylvan. “You don’t know her like I do—she hates being lied to. Her last boyfriend cheated on her and then lied about it and she dumped him and never looked back. If she knew what Baird was doing to her…” “It’s not as though it’s a conscious choice on his part,” Sylvan tried to explain. “It’s the way our bodies react chemically to our chosen mates. We can’t turn it off, even if we try. Sometimes it comes even when it’s not wanted. We have a saying for it—‘The blood knows what the mind does not wish to see.’” Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek and brushed away the single tear that had escaped her wide green eyes with his thumb. “It cannot be helped.” Sophia

sexual partners, she was either lying, or she’d had it for over a year. But Oliver’s chart didn’t show any symptoms and he hadn’t been prescribed.  Jamie mulled it over in her head then acted on a hunch, pulling open the top right-hand drawer. Inside was a wholesale box of condoms. She stared at it for a second. At least they were using protection. She wondered how many Mary gave out a week. Maybe there had been a third person in their relationship. A scorned ex-boyfriend who didn’t like Oliver? He obviously didn’t know about the rash — or hadn’t noticed. Grace was keeping it from him. Had he found out, confronted Grace’s other boyfriend? Or maybe the other way around. Surprised by the guy? Taken? Tied up and threatened? She had a feeling that the person hadn’t meant to kill him. If you’re going to kill someone, you don’t take their shoes and then dump them in a river. He’d either fallen in accidentally, or he’d jumped. Either way, if there wasn’t an ex — or not ex boyfriend — he was going to be someone Jamie wanted to speak to.  She held Grace’s picture up, looking past the matted hair and sunken eyes. She was young, pretty. She’d have a lot of attention out there on the streets.  Jamie closed the drawer and looked at the file again, searching for a name. She wanted to speak to the doctor. The signature just looked like a wavy line. She’d ask Mary. The chair squeaked as she pushed back from the desk and stood up, keeping the files in hand. Her watch told her it was nearly nine-thirty. Her stomach told her it was time for breakfast. Back in the main room, some of the people had cleared out, venturing back into the city. Looking for some way to get by.  Roper was still talking to Mary, who appeared to be in the middle of a speech about how these people needed more help than anyone was prepared to give, and that Oliver wouldn’t been the last. Jamie stepped around her, piqued. ‘Why do you say that?’ ‘Oh,’ she said, seeing Jamie. ‘Because people don’t want to help them and they let them hurt themselves and each other without paying them any mind.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Each other? Did someone have a problem with Oliver?’ ‘What?’ Mary looked sheepish all of a sudden, as if she’d dropped someone in something. ‘No, no — nothing like that. Not as far as I know, anyway,’ she added quickly. ‘Look, I just want you to find who did this — but for you to know that things are different with them. They don’t act the same — don’t believe in the same things, you know?’ She kept her voice low now. Jamie nodded. She’d worked the streets long enough to know what Mary meant. She’d seen more than she could have ever imagined. Seen people do crazy things. Things that people with something to lose would never think to do.  ‘Mrs Cartwright,’ she said after a second. ‘Grace Melver. She was friends with Oliver?’ ‘Grace?’ Mary’s eyes lit up a little and then tilted down in sadness. ‘What a sweet girl. She’ll be devastated. She’s been back every day to check whether Oliver has turned up. She’s been going out of her mind. Poor girl.’ ‘What was the nature of their relationship?’ Roper held his phone a little higher so the microphone could pick them up more easily. Mary thought for a second, aware of the recording. She chose her words carefully. ‘They were together, I suppose. As much as two people in their situation could be. They looked out for each other. Loved each other.’ ‘Did Grace have any other boyfriends?’ ‘No, no. She was sweet. She loved Oliver.’ ‘She was a heroin user, right?’ Mary looked like her face was about to droop and slip right off her head. ‘Horrible stuff. Though they

These moments of non-fuckery are the moments that most define our lives. The major switch in careers; the spontaneous choice to drop out of college and join a rock band; the decision to finally dump that deadbeat boyfriend whom you caught wearing your pantyhose a few times. To not give a fuck is to stare down life's most terrifying and difficult challenges and still take action.

I’m going to help your aunt,” I say. He grins at me. “Helping? Is that what they’re calling it now?” Sky is already out the door, and I really want to go with her. “She has a boyfriend,” I say. He shakes his head. “Not anymore. He dumped her yesterday. It wasn’t pretty.” So she doesn’t have a boyfriend? My heart leaps. Hot damn. “Did she cry a lot?” He shakes his head. “But there was a weird discussion about orgasms, his junk, and him being selfish in bed.” He shudders. “Way more than I wanted to hear.” “Way more than you should be repeating, too,” I warn. He grips my shoulder. “You need all the help you can get, man,” he says, giving me a squeeze. He grins. I flip him the bird in a way that Joey and Mellie can’t see and follow Sky into the hallway.

You keep your horrible boyfriend around because you feel like shit, and he's the the only one around who agrees with you. He validates the part of you that thinks you deserve bad things instead of good things. When you start believing that you deserve good things, you'll dump him because he won't fit anymore. But for now, he treats you like shit because that's what you want.

Remember when I said I was a bit scattered? It wasn’t just when it came to jobs. I had a slew of strange ex-boyfriends, too. There was George, who liked to wear my underwear . . . everyday. Not just to prance around in—he wore them under his Levi’s at work. As a construction worker. That didn’t go over well with his co-workers once they found out. He works at Jamba Juice now. I don’t think anyone cares about what kind of underwear he wears at Jamba Juice. Then there was Curtis. He had an irrational fear of El Caminos. Yes, the car. He just hated them so much that he became really fearful of seeing one. He’d say, “I don’t understand, is it a car or a truck?” The confusion would bring him to tears. When we were walking on the street together, I had to lead him like a blind person because he didn’t want to open his eyes and spot an El Camino. If he did, it would completely ruin his day. He would cry out, “There’s another one. Why, God?” And then he would have to blink seven times and say four Hail Marys facing in a southerly direction. I don’t know what happened to Curtis. He’s probably in his house playing video games and collecting disability. After Curtis came Randall, who will never be forgotten. He was an expert sign spinner. You know those people who stand on the corner spinning signs? Randall had made a career of it. He was proud and protective of his title as best spinner in LA. I met him when he was spinning signs for Jesus Christ Bail Bonds on Fifth Street. He was skillfully flipping a giant arrow that said, “Let God Free You!” and his enthusiasm struck me. I smiled at him from the turn lane. He set the sign down, waved me over, and asked for my phone number. We started dating immediately. He called himself an Arrow Advertising executive when people would ask what he did for a living. He could spin, kick, and toss that sign like it weighed nothing. But when he’d put his bright-red Beats by Dre headphones on, he could break, krump, jerk, turf, float, pop, lock, crip-walk, and b-boy around that six-foot arrow like nobody’s business. He was the best around and I really liked him, but he dumped me for Alicia, who worked at Liberty Tax in the same strip mall. She would stand on the opposite corner, wearing a Statue of Liberty outfit, and dance to the National Anthem. They were destined for each other. After Randall was Paul. Ugh, Paul. That, I will admit, was completely my fault.

When my high school boyfriend dumped me for my best friend two weeks before the prom, my great aunt Maureen said: Dorothy dear, life is messy but love is messier. As usual she’d nailed it. Tonight I had to be content with the mystery novel and the hot-buttered rum. I’d leave the mess for tomorrow.

real boyfriend pays for dates. A real boyfriend doesn’t ignore you at school and hang out with his friends instead. A real boyfriend gives you compliments and tells you that you’re beautiful. A real boyfriend doesn’t dump you for some girl he doesn’t even know, after you’ve given him three years of your life. You let that guy get away with too much, and he never once thought it would be a good idea to show you how grateful he was to have you. And that’s why I feel sorry for you.

But Ali could see that Brenda’s problems went far beyond her simply being dumped by a boyfriend. Somehow, in the last few years of troubles, Brenda Riley had lost herself. That could have been me, Ali thought. If it hadn’t been for the people around me, I might have gone down the tubes the same way.

As I lay there clutching the phone to my ear in our bedroom, Roger rolled over to look at me. He could clearly sense my anxiety rising. “I think you oughta dump your other boyfriend,” he said with a sleepy smile. He closed his eyes again. I turned back to the phone. “I’ll be in soon,” I said.

I had a friend once who was dumped by her boyfriend because he didn’t like a coat she had bought. It was a very nice cashmere coat, but for some reason it disgusted him to see her wearing it. At least that’s what he told her. She cut it up, doused it in lighter fluid, and burned it, but her boyfriend never came back.

Or, worse yet, when you meet a woman, and start something with her, the first woman you ever really loved; and then after a brief off-season you return to McMurdo an your reunion with her only to have her dump you on arrival as if your Kiwi idyll had never happened. Or when you see her around town soon after that, trolling with the best of tremor when you find out that some people are calling you "the sandwich," in reference to the ice women's old joke that bringing a boyfriend to Antarctica is like bringing a sandwich to a smorgasbord. No that's heartbreak for you.

Or, worse yet, when you meet a woman, and start something with her, the first woman you ever really loved; and then after a brief off-season you return to McMurdo an your reunion with her only to have her dump you on arrival as if your Kiwi idyll had never happened. Or when you see her around town soon after that, trolling with the best of them; or when you find out that some people are calling you 'the sandwich,' in reference to the ice women's old joke that bringing a boyfriend to Antarctica is like bringing a sandwich to a smorgasbord. Now that's heartbreak for you.

So you just walked away from me and avoided me for the rest of the night . . . because you felt like it?” “Pretty much.” He walked over until he was standing directly in front of me, blocking my view of the TV, but I still didn’t look at him. “We talked about this.” When he didn’t continue, I snorted. “We talk about a lot, Kash. You expect me to know what conversation you’re referring to just because you know which one you’re talking about? Can you move? You’re in the way.” He moved. But it was to grab the remote out of my hand to turn the TV off. “You’re shielding again. Why? Did I push things too far tonight? Did something happen to you? Are you having nightmares again?” “I’m just having a shitty night. Isn’t that enough?” “Then tell me! Don’t throw your shield at me. I told you, no shields with us; if something is wrong, I want you to tell me. I can’t help you through whatever is going on if you shut me out.” “I don’t need you to help me, I need you to back off! You’re not my boyfriend, you’re not supposed to be there to fix things.” His eyes turned silver and his brow furrowed. “Where’s my Rachel, huh? The girl who just this morning dumped an entire bowl of pancake batter on my head and was kissing me . . . where is she?” “First of all, you don’t have a Rachel. And as for this morning, we’ll say it was a moment of stupidity on my part.” “A mo—” His eyebrows shot up and he took a step back as he shook his head. “A moment of stupidity? That’s really what you’re going to call that?” It was a moment in my life I wanted to relive over and over again. But it was stupid. I shoved off the couch and headed for my room. “Since you like to let yourself in, see yourself out.” Before I made it to my door, he grabbed on to my wrist and yanked me back toward him. “Stop with the goddamn shields!” “Fine! You don’t want shields? Then they’re gone!

I loved the tales of Dorothy L. Sayers and Margery Allingham. I read widely as a young woman, but always went back to traditional crime fiction for my comfort-reading. If I had a cold or had been dumped by my boyfriend, those were the books I returned to for escape and reassurance.