Today, your High School got together and named you Boyfriend of the Year!!!!

These geezers are obviously jump street.

But that wasn’t one of the categories in the yearbook questionnaire.

“Screw the yearbook questionnaire,” Jenny the yearbook editor says. It’s a surprise to see her so devil-may-care, because Jenny is all about the yearbook. 

“We'd be damned if we graduated without you being recognized. Your love for Marie is an inspiration. We’re all going to look for men in college who treat us the way you’ve treated Marie.”

Just spit it out.

“Marie and I broke up.”

They all gasp.  Somewhere on the other end of the room a pencil clatters to the floor.

“This morning,” tell them. “I decided that there’s absolutely no point in being her boyfriend if it’s not going to earn me any awards or accolades. 

You register an almost incoherent sound of disbelief originate from Jenny's throat.

 "...Wish I’d known you were planning this.”

You hang your head and let your hair fall mournfully over your eyes.  They all start talking at once, and after lots of shouting and bickering it’s agreed that you should call Marie and ask her if she’d like to give it another chance.

“Will you take back the award if I don’t?” you ask.

On the spot, an impromptu caucus is formed and the resolution is that no, you can keep the award regardless since it was based on your performance as boyfriend during the school year.

“Then I’m good,” you say. “Time to focus on numero uno, if you know what I’m saying.”

You point your thumb at yourself just to make it clear.  

“Fine,” Jenny says. “But just so you know, having given you this award, and then watching you behave this way, it’s really not going to help us in our future relationships.”

And it won’t. Everyone, every single person in that room, will get at least one divorce in their lifetimes. 

Except for you. You’ll be dead next year.  Xanax overdose.