This is Casie. Casie was your girlfriend for 18 months. Despite her flawlessly toned body and affinity for making love on top of dryers, Casie put you through absolute Hell on earth. Seriously, dude. She was certifiably insane. She told you she went to Dartmouth, when in fact she attended New England College. And when you checked the Dartmouth directory and couldn’t find her name, she got mad at you for “spying on her”. Then she kicked you in the chest.
She claimed to have been best friends with Nicole Eggert, but you couldn’t verify it. She told you she worked at Christie’s Auction House, but building security had no record of her ever being an employee. One time, you stepped on her foot by accident in the middle of a crosswalk, causing her to argue with you for ten minutes WITHOUT FINISHING CROSSING THE STREET. She had an invisible cat named “Ollie”. Sometimes she talked in a little kiddie voice. You had no clue why.
She called you fat. She broke down in tears once because you got a haircut she didn’t care for. She was also an anti-Semite. One time she met one of your buddies, then after he left the room, she asked in exasperation, “God, are ALL your friends Jewish?” She loved talking about how much richer her ex-boyfriend was compared to you. She demanded you get a job in finance. She booked restaurant reservations at four-star restaurants you couldn’t possibly afford, then made you take her anyway.
One night, she woke you up at 3AM to tell you how much she hated your family. That was the last straw. You got out of bed, put on your clothes, and started to leave the apartment. She grabbed your arm and tried to restrain you from leaving. You shook her off, running down the stairs to catch a cab. And on that cab ride home, you exhaled. You were free. You knew this was it. No amount of make-up sex would draw you back this time. You knew you would never see her again, and you didn’t. It was the best you felt in ages.
Somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, you wonder if she was ever named Casie to begin with.