The splitting truth

I have been a little tied up these days, so Single Friend #1 had to narrate her latest misadventures over the phone. She had just started seeing this guy, when, on Saturday evening, he called a last-minute rain check, cancelled their date and left her watching endless repeats of Criminal Minds in full make-up, hair and LBD. (BTW, she is happy for me to tell the story because she wants everybody to know 'what an a-hole this guy is') At 3am, after she had finally dozed off (with a slight terror of serial killers bursting into her apartment), he texted to inform her that it was all over. He couldn't wait until the morning, as, 'walking down the night streets on his own, he thought of her and realised they had no future'. In a way, it was a brilliant move. While half asleep, one is hardly in the right state of mind to ask pertinent questions or make a scene. He then screened calls, so SF#1 is never to find out: 1) What future? 2) Why didn't he tell her before messing up her evening? 3) Couldn't he wait for six more hours? 4) Had she done/said something wrong? 5) Was he seeing somebody else? 6) WTF was he doing 'walking down the night streets on his own'???
I am happy to report that my friend is fine and not really bothered. But I am even happier she gave me the opportunity to recall some of the worst break-ups I experienced, from school days to adulthood.

There was the guy who asked his brother to get rid of me over the phone because the poor lad 'had to concentrate on his studies and could not afford to spend time with a girlfriend' (truth: he had found an older girl with big tits).
The one who couldn't go out with me because I was 'too cerebral' (truth: he had hooked up with a classmate on a school trip. Entirely my fault, I was already at University and should have known better).
My first big love, who split up with me the day I left the hospital after life-saving surgery because it was getting 'too intense' (yes, a near-death experience can be pretty intense and scary.. We did get back together after two weeks I spent crying uncontrollably).
The guy who, three weeks after moving in, announced he took a job in another country. News delivered on Saturday morning, car packed and on its way on Sunday evening (rush much?).
And my very own favourite - how could I forget. This bloke was in such a hurry to dispose of me, he decided to do it on the way to a fancy-dress party. Where he was going as a 'lady of the night'. Picture this: me, sweet 16, trying to keep a straight face while an olive-skinned six-footer with a blond wig, heavy make up, a tube top and a miniskirt informs me that he is way too young for a serious commitment and needs to be able to have multiple girlfriends. And BJs. Yes, I was dumped by a man in drag because I wasn't giving him head. How could I not laugh??