How Bromantic

Nobody can deny – being cheated on sucks. No matter who you are or how many times you have suffered through the tears, the endless blocks of chocolate and the plotting of many deaths – it sucks. But if there were an award for the worst possible way for the event to unfold – the lowest of the low – I would win. There would be a large trophy crafted in my honour and an award bestowed upon me for not removing certain vital appendages from certain individuals.

I have been unfortunate enough to experience all that the world’s plethora of jerks has to offer in the way of cheating; your best friend; your ex-best friend; your worst enemy (Stings!); in front of you at a club with a large breasted stranger (classy); via Facebook (ugh). I thought I was at the point where the male populations’ myriad methods of indiscretion were not only known to me, but  made me yawn in bored contempt. Maybe it was my fault for thinking I’d seen it all, for thinking myself wise to their schemes.

The worst way, I have found to be cheated on by your partner is on the day when love and honour and commitment should be at the forefront of one’s mind – Valentines Day. You’re thinking, I’ve heard of worse, right? Oh no, it gets better. On this day, shrouded in a cloud of love and armed with a bouquet of reckless infatuation I ran into our then love nest to catch my then boyfriend in the .. err .. arms of another man.

You could imagine my surprise, expecting romance and instead faced with unbridled bromance, in the most graphic of fashions.

Let this be a lesson to you ladies; just when you think you’ve seen it all, you literally see it all.  Now someone hand me that large two-penises-entwined trophy, I think I’ve earned it.

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