Getting dumped is no excuse for murder

[Photo: Courtesy]

Earlier in the week, I ran into my childhood crush. Her youthful lustre is long gone, replaced by a plump, maternal body, tightening facial skin and the ubiquitous wig that denotes a woman who has accepted fate. She didn’t stir a thing in me. Nothing.  

Ten years ago, if she walked into a room I was in, I would become super hypertensive and weak in the knees. I would froth in the mouth and stutter to the point of incoherence.