Why I hate a meteor shower

I will admit it. I hate the Perseids. Is it because I know the Perseids are the pretty dust of the Swift-Tuttle, the comet that may or may not hit the earth in about a century? Not really, as we all know who to call if that's about to happen. Is this fear and hatred in sympathy with my ancient ancestors who knew a comet and its trail for what it is, a herald of certain evil? Yes and no.

It all began with a group outing arranged by the worst person I ever dated, who is the only ex-boyfriend I would never ever speak to again and who I might in fact slap in the face upon sight, a lovely man whom I will call Foxymoron. The original point of the outing was to see the Perseids but somehow by night's end it also included a ridiculous limousine, a cokehead and his alcoholic girlfriend, a very tipsy restaurant hostess Foxymoron was doing his most covert (but moronic) best to seduce while on a date with me, and a light-polluted beach. But a sandy, stolen Foxymoron wallet and very very expensive cab ride later, I was home safe and sound in my bed. All that was lost was a relationship that needed to end anyway. Since then, lo these many years ago now, I have regarded the Perseids for what they are, a sure harbinger of relationship doom. A couple of men have asked me to go see the Perseids since. That (unaccepted) invitation always proves to be the death knell, my friends, and within days the relationship is over.

I have nothing against a meteorite per se. I do love a falling star. I do not even mind all meteor showers. For example, I have no beef whatsoever with the Leonids. I could even appreciate a man who asked me to go to see the Leonids, as it takes a certain something to want to wait out a cold November night to see a bunch of shooting stars. I feel like any poser-yahoo can do the same in August.

Anyway, for those among you who are unbiased and unafraid of the tears of St. Lawrence, tonight's the night. Avoid Romans, cads, limousines, light pollution, and enjoy!