This one goes out to my weak... inferior... human self:
A week ago, when the ultimate hostage exchange finally brought the intramarital war that has taken up way too much of my precious life to an end, thus spake one who, two years ago, saw fit to abandon me on the day of my 42nd birthday for a bimbo half my age:
-So... you're shooting a lot?
-How's it going?
-Uhmmm... it's going pretty good.
-So who's that guy you were with at the gallery?
-You mean like three months ago? My boyfriend.
-Really? How old is he?
-Don't worry though. He's history.
The look of relief on his face: priceless.