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“It’s over,” he adds for good measure, really twisting the pastry knife. “B-b-but… the ring,” I stutter, my vision blurring at the edges as hot tears prick the corners of my eyes. Now, it’s Adam’s turn to look confused. “What ring?” “I found it in your drawer,” I mumble, blinking up at a shiny decorative Christmas bauble suspended above me. “Oh. That’s not for you.”
And so, I do the only thing that a reasonable, sane, mature, twenty-five year old woman who’s just been dumped on national television would do: I reach up, grab the back of his head… and dunk his stupid blind-bat face in the vat of wrong-color-red frosting. Fa la la la la la la la la.
3. On my way into the arena this morning—with impeccably terrible timing that had me fleeing to this bathroom in the first place—because the Instagram post I’ve been dreading finally popped up on my feed. Adam and Elizabeth are engaged. And I doubt that the timing is a coincidence—he kind of had to get that ring on her stupidly slender, long, perfect finger before The Incident episode airs in just over a week. And according to that same post, he—they—recently opened his new dream dessert emporium, too. So the happy couple have more than one thing to celebrate.
Hell, I might even be a dumb jock. But the first thing that springs to mind as I stare at the woman in the men’s bathroom—who’s scrubbing her hands while sporting raw, red, teary eyes—is that scene in Macbeth where Lady Macbeth goes off the rails. Proof that I did listen in class once in a while. Man, my high school English teacher would be proud.

