It’s Not You, It’s Your Uncontrollable Telekinesis.
BY Ben Joseph
It’s a cliché, but I mean it. You’re a lovely person and we had a good run. I just no longer feel comfortable in a relationship with a person whose smallest emotional fluctuations wreak massive havoc on the surrounding physical world.
Honey, please, calm down. No, you’re not. How can I tell? The silverware floating 4 inches above the table was a clue. I know the set was a gift from your mother. I know she is a lovely, caring woman. However, if she gave you a little space, maybe we could have solved this.
I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Please put the dog down. No, I don’t love him more than you. Well, at least one of you is happy to see me when I get home each day. I do care! Now, however, thanks to all the flying glass, I seem to be bleeding profusely from my brachial artery. Not to mention we just had those windows weatherproofed. There’s another month’s pay down the drain.
That certainly was not an insinuation. I’m sure plenty of women can’t see the word SALE without feeling compelled to buy half of Dillard’s—then rend the store, brick from mortar, once their credit is rejected. You never even wore that blue blouse.
I’m passive-aggressive? I’m not the one who smiles sweetly while silently triggering psychokinetic devastation on the majority of her boyfriend’s biological processes. Or is that just your cooking?
Great. Your rage-fueled psionic storm has now torn through the very fabric of existence, opening a portal to a demon dimension of unspeakable horror. I always said your temper would get you in serious trouble one day. Don’t come running to me when whatever Joe Truckstop you shack up with next isn’t as understanding when hell goblins from beyond the curtain of human perception pick at his eyeballs. Marla always says I am way too accommodating.
That’s not fair. Marla is a very respectable woman. All I’m saying is it’s nice to have an intelligent conversation once in a while. I guess it doesn’t matter, now that the Apocalypse is nigh, but, yes, we’re sleeping together. There, I said it. I’m leaving you for Marla, existence as we know it is coming to an end, and I lied when I said I enjoyed Tuesdays With Morrie. I found it cloying and maudlin.
I hope you’re happy now.
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