All right, we're going to kick this segment off with the roastescroat from our Patreon subscriber, Katie.

Hi, Katie.

Hey, Katie.

So she says, I dated a guy for around a year and a half and into the pandemic.

And he sucked.

Well, I'm going to guess so because you're submitting this story.

So just getting myself prepared for the suckage, I guess.

I felt this whole, I felt this the whole time, but went against my better instincts to follow a plan straight out of the Picney Survival Guide and ignore them.

Never do that.

Anyways, after about a year of low-value mail nonsense, including but not limited to, consistently

directly defying my request for ways to act with my belongings, two, forgetting plans or

things I told him and then telling me that me saying, I told you this in a later conversation

was condescending and made him feel bad. And three, not wanting to hang out on our anniversary.

I was finally getting fed up enough with feeling bad about myself and being leached off

of and started coming to terms with ending things.

Yeah, those are all legitimate red flags.

I mean, I don't know what it is where men's like memories like a fishbow

when it's something that's important to you, but when it's something that's important to them.

They can remember like when the new Nikes are going to be released or like when like, you know, if it's a year and a half in the future, they can remember the date of like the new Xbox, but they can't remember your birthday that comes every single year.

It feels or your anniversary for that matter.

It feels deliberate, right?

Oh my gosh.

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