Continuing the last break-up story from the last post:
A few friends were over at M's house to keep her company and give her consolation food after her recent surprise break-up with J, who acquires a new nickname at the end of this story.
I ended up leaving M's house with my friend B at around 1:30 A.M. We walked a couple blocks to the main drag where we waited for our respective cabs As she was still having a cigarette when the first cab showed up, she let me take it.
And then The Horchaccident happened to the cab that she took.
I have been feeling some odd survivor's guilt since that happened. If only I had taken that second cab; I wouldn't have had to go anywhere near that intersection! I can't blame myself, of course. There was nothing I did to make that car run that red light.
Last Friday, I brought her my last jar of lemon marmalade, a loaf of sourdough (not homemade this time), and a big chunk of gorgonzola. Again, stinky cheese heals all wounds. B and I bonded over stinky cheese. Good times.
This past Sunday, I crashed a fantastic dinner back at M's house, cooked with love for B. When I left at 10-ish, I announced to the living room, "OK, so, who's going to walk me out and make sure the karma cab doesn't come get me? Any takers? No?"
Rationally, I know that the accident wasn't my fault. Naturally, M and B are blaming J, whose break-up was the reason we had been at M's house that night in the first place.
Rationally, it's actually the fault of the driver who ran the red light.
Nevertheless, it's easier to blame J, henceforth known as the Kneebreaker.