Few things said by a woman can be more interesting than the one sentence she chooses to say when ending a relationship. Months or years of shared moments and emotions are condensed into a mere handful of words, each as ambiguous as a mixed cup of Slurpee, and each as cold. It has been said by the wisest of men that kids say the darnedest things, but it is my experience that things said by women are even darneder. They are sometimes so darned the only appropriate response is, “Wow, that is really darned.” That is not to say, however, that I disagree with them.

Take, for instance, that girl in my sophomore year who told me that I enjoyed the chase more than the actual relationship. On the moonlit bench, I gently brushed apart her hair, revealing her sullen eyes, and quietly told her that it was true. Especially the ones who screamed when they ran. Those were the best.

Then there was that girl in eighth grade who claimed that despite our seven months together, I could not remember her name. This, too, was true. As an aspiring screenwriter whose mind was largely filled with character names appropriate for different faces, I have always relied on intuition rather than brute force memory. My ability to see names based on a person’s appearance had never failed me, except in the case of this girl. As we sat on the pier after dinner, as she poured her heart out through an endless stream of tears, telling me that although she loved me dearly that it was best we separated, all I could deduce was that she was not a Peter.

I suppose I should see it as a kind of blessing that these women thought of me well enough to not say anything intentionally hurtful. Their words, although never pleasurable, were always measured to cause the least amount of pain. Well, except for that one girl who said my dick was a joke.

But at least it was an inside joke.