Bitch Slaps

Irony is a sadistic bitch. In the past, I've observed that I must therefore have a masochistic sense of humor.

I'm not laughing now.

I'm not laughing at all.

And Irony is at her happiest. (Turnabout's the fairest form of play.)

He says he loves me. He wants to think he does, more than anything, but he doesn't. He's infatuated. I question whether he even cares about me that much, but I'll be generous.

"Why couldn't You send me a nice Christian girl?"

Beseechingly, on his knees, gaze skyward, while I lay crumpled, struggling to breathe, not two feet away.

Later, he said he was sorry, but meant in general, for upsetting me. His sentiment remains. ("Why couldn't You send me a nice Christian girl?")

I know I should take that as my signal, cut my losses and leave. No one who actually loves me could say such a thing.

But Irony is a sadistic bitch.

I love him.

I am far from laughing.