Many a mickle makes a muckle

The old whore "raised her prices" on me last night. That's my way of saying I got the walking papers from the old ball and chain. That is, I got dumped.

A bit unexpected, but unlike other more awkward break-ups I've experienced, her method was novel. In order:

1. A box of Kleenex thrown at my face.
2. "Get the fuck out, asshole."
3. A pillow thrown at my face.
4. "Wake up!"
5. Grabbing me by the ankles and dragging me toward the door. (In my stupor, I reached for the nearest leg of the coffee table. Though it did not prevent my process of being dragged toward the front door of the apartment, I was successful in knocking a pile of Reader's Digest and a bowl of candy to the floor.)
6. "Wake up, you fuckin' asshole!"
7. Fire extinguisher blasts to the face and neck as I thrash my legs in protest.
8. Long sigh as I lay on the floor and then a reminder that I still had a Bon Jovi CD of hers that I could "drop off sometime".
9. Completion of the task of dragging me to the front door; awkwardly standing me up and foisting my teetering body into the apartment hallway.
10. "I hope we can still be friends."

To my credit, I didn't cry or vomit until after I had left the premise. I hope she means it about being friends.