She Looks Cold to Me. Does She Look Cold to You?

This woman has balls. Not literally, of course. (And in fact, you can verify this by scrolling down her page -- she takes that URL very seriously.)

Her blog is a no-holds-barred, here's-what-happened extravaganza of relationship-pile-up post-mortem. And it's frickin' riveting. Man, you just never know what you're going to find in the NYT.

The only other blog that even comes close is probably the Constipation Chronicles on Dooce. Alas, mental health has descended on Heather Armstrong, depriving us all over her awesome, blow-by-blow accounts of her lower colon's complete and total inability to get in the game.

I have nothing even remotely that juicy to spill, but reading through NakedJen's blog, I realized I have never recounted the Delicious Tale of How My Fiance Dumped Me.

I continue to stick with that title, even though I have since acquired a second, sturdier Fiance who toughed it out and actually went and married me, thus becoming an actual Husband.

But I digress. As our scene opens, the Fiance (or F) and I have been engaged for almost a year and a half. Our wedding is scheduled for nine months hence. It is universally believed among my friends that F is kind of a douche. When I defend him, my friends point to the fact that I bought him a framed, vintage Soviet propaganda poster for Christmas -- because he loves all things communist -- while his gift to me was a computer printer, which was promptly set up in his office. At this point, I generally changed the subject because there is no reasoning with some people.

The curtain rises on an apartment on Ave. B in NYC's East Village. It is Friday, March 15, slightly after 7 p.m. Kate is home from work, and sitting in the living room in anticipation of "The X-Files", which will start in about 55 minutes.

F enters from stage right and takes a seat in the really nice Crate and Barrel side chair F and Kate had purchased a few weeks earlier. Actually, since his raise, F has been on quite the tear with spendy, spur-of-the-moment purchases. But then his job is incredibly demanding and stressful, so if it he wants to spend some of his paycheck on a taupe side chair, so be it.

F then proceeds to explain that their relationship, the relationship between F and Kate, is not going well. He's not happy. Ah. Would he consider couples' therapy? Yes, he would. But for now, he thinks it would be a good idea if they considered themselves broken up. He does? Yes, he does.

There is more to this conversation, but all too soon, an hour has passed. F looks at the clock and observes that it is almost time for "The X-Files," and really, what more is there to say?

At that moment, Kate realizes that F has timed this conversation with Swiss watch precision, so that he'd only have to discuss this unpleasantness with her for approximately 55 minutes. Because after that, of course, she'd want to watch "The X-Files."

And scene.

Needless to say, I no longer argued with my friends about whether F was a douche. I did not, in fact, watch that episode. To this day, I have never seen it, but I'm told I'm not missing much. (It was about the Mexican Goat-Sucker, which has another name I cannot spell.)

F's timing our break-up conversation in this manner has won a number of bets for me over the years and several informal who-has-the-shittiest-break-up-story competitions. Four months later, he took me out to dinner and tried unsuccessfully to re-start our relationship. I haven't seen him since.

A week later, I left for Ireland and spent almost the whole time making out with an adorable guy named Tom. And, as we know, I ended up marrying a hilarious Yalie with a passing resemblance to Ewan MacGregor. So it all worked out in the end.