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Day Forty-One (2).

Katy broke up with me. I should have known this was going to happen— there were so many hints, after all. Maybe I shouldn’t have chugged that bottle of tussen and smoked three bowls before I went over to her place.

Maybe it was the table settings. There were only five— enough for Katy, her mom, her dad, her sister Avery, and their little dog too.

Maybe it was the fact she didn’t get me anything from Argentina. Not even a t-shirt.

Maybe it was her off-hand comment about having a penis.

“I’ve never noticed this picture,” I said. She was leading me up to her room— my hopes were for the blowjob— when I saw a picture of a naked toddler on the wall.

“Who is that?”

“Oh,” she said, “That’s me when I was a little boy.”

That sound you heard was the bass being dropped.

“You were a little boy?”

“It’s nothing , don’t worry about it.”

She got into her room and I closed the door behind me. Blowjob time. Katy sat down on her bed and caught me up on her trip to Argentina. It was largely boring.

“But there’s something I need to tell you,” she said.

“You’re going to suck me off, right?”

“No, not that. Not that at all, Charlie.”

I was floored. No blowjob? I’ve been waiting for the Katy Special for forty days. Something was amiss.

“We need to talk.”

Oh. Shit.

“Not this again,” I said.

“What, again?”


“I went on a date in Argentina.”

“I knew that.”

“We kissed.”

The sound you just heard was the bass being picked back up and dropped again. Fuck. Katy cheated on me.

She began to explain that she was sent on a date— and she didn’t know it was a date— while in Argentina. Katy’s grandmother had set her up with an Argentinian guy because, apparently, her grandmother had not been informed that she had a boyfriend. By choice.

“Was it Alan Thickhole?” I asked, imagining the man had bought a ticket to Argentina just to swoop on my girl.

“Who? No, not Alan— wait, how do you know…?”

“I read your text messages.”

“You asshole!” she cried out. “Those are private!”

“You shouldn’t have left your phone on the table at Patsy’s then,” I said. I get it, by the way: I’m an asshole. But this is between me and my girlfriend so stay out of it. Ex-girlfriend, I mean. This is between me and my ex-girlfriend. Stay out of it.

Katy got up off her bed. “It’s over.”

“You’re not breaking up with me.”

“Oh I am. It’s over, Charlie. And I’m calling it for once. Not you.”

Which is bullshit, by the way. It’s always about me, all the time. But what she said next rocked me to my rotten core.

Katy, as you know, seems to inflate like a balloon when she gets angry. I mean, she gets dilapidated-barn size. And with her red hair she really does look like a dilapidated barn. The only problem with that simile is that it’s very hard to push a dilapidated barn down a hill— but Katy, not so much.

Anyways, she wasn’t growing large like she was angry. In fact, she seemed to be getting smaller and smaller with each and every word she said. I hadn’t noticed this before tonight.

Oh yes, I forgot: The next thing she said to me rocked me to my rotten core. Forgot to tell you what that was. Sorry about that.

“I’ve been reading your blog.”


“And I know you fucked one of the Mexican girls from the Panda Express.”


I started at Katy like a bull in a china shop: “I didn’t make love to a Mexican girl from the Panda Express.”

“So that’s what it is now,” she said, “It wasn’t making love. You were just fucking.”

“Of course it wasn’t making love. And we didn’t— we didn’t fuck either.”

“That’s not what your blog says.”

“That’s not what my blog says. Have you been talking to Chaz or something?”

“Are you trying to imply I’ve been fucking Chaz?”

“How ridiculous is that?”

“Well you just implied Alan Thickhole drove to Argentina for a date with me.”

“I never said he drove to Argentina. If anything he flew there.”

“That’s fucking preposterous, Charlie.”

Katy was shrinking quickly. She was now the size of a chihuahua and her voice was beginning to to sound like a small cartoon chipmunk’s. I knew things were going nowhere, so I decided to bring the ball back to my court.

“You had a penis?”

“We’re broken up. I don’t have to tell you about the penis.”

“I think I deserve to know about the penis.”

“It was my penis, not yours.”

“And?” It felt like there was an “and” that should have gone in there.

“And that’s between me and my boyfriend.”


“I’m dating Alan Thickhole, Charlie.”

“No fucking way. You’re dating me.”

“Not anymore. We just broke up.”

“You just broke up with me?”

“And now I’m dating Alan Thickhole.”

“Tell me about the penis.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything about my penis.”

“It’s not like having a tail. This is having a penis.”

Katy was now smaller than the indian in the cupboard. I picked her up off her bed and placed her in my palm.

“I could flush you down the toilet,” I said.

“What are you talking about?”

“And your voice has gotten so tiny, too.”

“Charlie, are you high?”

“So small.”

“You’re fucking buttered.”

“Who—” I said, “Who the hell says buttered?”

“You’re being an asshole now.”

“Do I look like a goddamn piece of toast to you?” I checked my arms to make sure that wasn’t the case. No, I was not a piece of bread.

“I can’t do this anymore Charlie,” she said. “Put me down.”

So I put her down.

“Open the door.”

So I opened the door.

“And go fuck yourself off a cliff.”

So I went ahead and did that. I left her up in her room, tinier than the penis she used to have. Actually, I just walked down the stairs and told her mom that the food smelled great.

“Staying for dinner?” she said.

“Nah, Katy and I just broke up,” I said.

“I could see that coming from a mile away.”

“Let alone 3,000 of them, right?”

“Right, Charlie.”

“Is Avery home?”

“Stay away from my daughter.”

And that was that. Katy later texted me telling me how much of a dick face I was and I texted her saying, well… this is between me and my ex-girlfriend. Stay out of it.