Poetic timing of betrayal
There I was, a weary traveller, far from home on a noble school trip, driven by nothing more than the innocent pursuit of pizza —a universally respected mission. But fate had other plans, because standing in line before me, in a dazzling display of poor decision-making , was my dear significant other, passionately entangled with some dude from her school. Handholding. Hugging. Full-blown romance package , right there in the middle of my pizza sanctuary . Now, let’s pause to admire the irony— she knew I was in town. Either she had the IQ of a crouton, or she simply did not care. Either way, tragic. Did I make a scene? No, no. I had priorities —and my priority was pizza , not delivering a Shakespearean monologue of heartbreak. Instead, I executed the perfect stealth manoeuvre, approaching from behind like a villain in a psychological thriller, leaning in ever so slightly, and whispering a single, bone-chilling “hi.” She froze. Then, in true guilty-party fashion, she fl...