I am so ready to breakup with him, but I thought I should wait until after the holidays. It seemed cruel otherwise, especially since it was our turn to go to his house.  I could see his excitment and I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I gotta tell ya, it's so freaking hot there I'm kinda dreading the trip. I tell myself, what’s a few days? It’s not for eternity, right? 

Truthfully, I think he likes to take me home just so he can see me in me rock my red bikini the entire visit (I roast in anything else) -- which does make this lady feel a little objectified. One plus? His mother's Yule Gruel Flambé is to D.I.E. for...

It’s time to split with him because he’s so damn focused on his career. He doesn't put time into our relationship (though I will say, that boy can do things with that forked tongue you would not believe). He’s unrelenting with the work talk. Whenever we're together, it's always, "Did I tell you who I ran into the office today? Man, was he burned!! Ha! Ha! Ha!" Sure, this joke was funny the first ten times, but now it's tired. 

He's not the easiest boyfriend to shop for either. Last year I got him a nice terry robe, but it was incinerated before he got a chance to try it on. I  thought it would be a refreshing change to see him relax, but no, up it went just like the sweater my mother knitted him the year before. Poof!  The personalized stationary that I got for him lasted even less time. Maybe not the most practical gift, but I didn't think it would kill him to send the occasional "thank you" note to his legion of demons. Those guys work really hard, but manners were never my boyfriend’s strong suit.

Also, he’s always on my case to develop good intentions, but I think this is just his way of trying to get me to move in with him. It makes me feel pressured. I tell him I can’t take the heat at his place to deflect from what is really his thinly veiled “commitment talk” a.k.a. Eternal Damnation. He dances around the issue saying,“It’s a dry heat. That’s the best kind.” “Do you ever get used to it?” I ask. “Eh...” he answers not too convincingly.

This year, even though I’m determined this is our last holiday together, I’m taking the high road getting him something special to soften the blow of the impending breakup. It’s an imported snowball flown in all the way from Norway (not easy getting that sucker through customs, let me tell you). I hope he likes it!  Despite everything, I wish him no ill will.