Halfway through my freshman year of college, I broke up with my boyfriend of, oh, I don’t know, like three years or something, and then I got in a car accident and forgot.
I apparently was asking for him from the hospital bed, so he made the drive up to see me and somehow, we ended up dating for three more months. He sat with me in Washington Court House through the whole jaws-wired-shut, 85-pound-housebound-and-unshowered thing, and then, about two weeks after I went back to school, I broke up with him again.
I’m just saying.
This is part One of a new series “Slaughtering a Pig: The least of my transgressions” in preparation for Feb. 8, the day our little piggy goes to the market.
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