I knew it was a bad idea when he wanted to paint my portrait with mayonnaise.

He knows I can’t stand the stuff. I have a pathological aversion to it, in fact.

“You won’t smell it, you know that!” He told me. “You won’t even see it.”

“But why must you paint my portrait anyway?”

“I am an artist, dearheart.”

“Why mayonnaise, Madison?” Girly name. I know.

“I am trying out a new medium, and at the same time trying to confuse you greatly. It’ll be you…made of something you hate. Forcing you to think, and feel.”

It was this that sent me over the edge. “Madison…this isn’t going to work.”

“No, no…I have the chemistry all worked out. I can get the stuff to dry, and not rot.”

“I meant us.”

That was it. The end. No one saw it coming. We were too perfect.

Psh. We were never meant to last. But nobody knew why.