VD For You And Me
We all know when we're in love, but it's often hard to know when exactly the spark has left the relationship and it's time to dump the nit. We at OC have consulted various hot dog cart vendors, podiatrists and municipal sanitation workers to compile this list of
You once received a Valentine's Day box of chocolates. Now it's a case of instant mashed potatoes.
"Sweety" becomes "Assface".
Your "His" and "Hers" towels now both say "Mine".
He starts giving you a yearly "That Oughta Do It" $20 bill to cover all birthday, Valentine's Day, and holiday gifts.
Your partner calls out bingo numbers during sex.
You ask for a pet for Christmas and get a swayback hamster.
That cute purring noise your partner makes while sleeping is now viewed as a chainsaw cutting through the Devil's lead-encased femur.
Your find all of your old gifts have gone to Good Will, and all of your new ones are coming from there.
His idea of a romantic evening is watching a Lyle Alzado marathon on the couch.
Not only does he not put the seat down, but he doesn't bother to lift it up anymore. Or turn on the lights.
On vacation, she eschews a walk along the shore for a stroll among the tar pits.
Candle-lit dinners for two occur far less often than all-you-can-eat buffets at the discount food warehouse.
You're sleeping with his brother.
You used to hold them in, now you let 'em rip. Loudly and often.
The long walks after dinner have become long, long visits to the bathroom.
You're sleeping with her brother.
Whispered sweet nothings are now shouted bitter unmentionables.
You keep finding Draino residue on your cereal bowl.
His friends casually refer to you as "his future ex".
You get the old "I think we should start sleeping with other people".
SIGNS THAT IT'S TIME TO DUMP HIM/HER
or
Indications That Your Love Is Crap
"Our Song" goes from "My Heart Will Go On" to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald".
or
Indications That Your Love Is Crap
You once received a Valentine's Day box of chocolates. Now it's a case of instant mashed potatoes.
"Sweety" becomes "Assface".
Your "His" and "Hers" towels now both say "Mine".
He starts giving you a yearly "That Oughta Do It" $20 bill to cover all birthday, Valentine's Day, and holiday gifts.
Your partner calls out bingo numbers during sex.
You ask for a pet for Christmas and get a swayback hamster.
That cute purring noise your partner makes while sleeping is now viewed as a chainsaw cutting through the Devil's lead-encased femur.
Your find all of your old gifts have gone to Good Will, and all of your new ones are coming from there.
His idea of a romantic evening is watching a Lyle Alzado marathon on the couch.
Not only does he not put the seat down, but he doesn't bother to lift it up anymore. Or turn on the lights.
On vacation, she eschews a walk along the shore for a stroll among the tar pits.
Candle-lit dinners for two occur far less often than all-you-can-eat buffets at the discount food warehouse.
You're sleeping with his brother.
You used to hold them in, now you let 'em rip. Loudly and often.
The long walks after dinner have become long, long visits to the bathroom.
You're sleeping with her brother.
Whispered sweet nothings are now shouted bitter unmentionables.
You keep finding Draino residue on your cereal bowl.
His friends casually refer to you as "his future ex".
You get the old "I think we should start sleeping with other people".
