I just got dumped... again.

I think perhaps I smell real bad. Or maybe my butt is a whole lot bigger than what I realise it actually is (and believe me, I realise it is damn big). Perhaps I have a personality disorder, halitosis, a sullen soul, or maybe I am just wholly unloveable??

All I can say is that Kabul is a bitch of a place to get dumped. Firstly, how can you go on a shopping spree and buy shoes you will never wear? How can you drown you sorrows in vodka when your fridge is empty and the only place to buy any more is a dangerous trip down Jalalabad Road to Supreme and security won’t let you go? And how are you supposed to have a best-friend vent/rant/cry session when she lives on the other side of this damn planet? And how the hey nonny nonny are you supposed to lose weight, get a cool haircut and look gorgeous to make him jealous when in fact you look like shit on a regular basis here? I tell you, Kabul is not the place to get dumped; this is a place where products passed their use-by date come to die; it’s where intestinal worms are bred, Russian taxis rust, dust comes to settle, faeces come to rot and bombs come to explode. It is not where broken hearts come for repair.