The breakup was bad. I mean the kind of I-can’t-help- but-gasp-at-the-mere-passing-thought-of-his-name- much-less-an-entire-intentionally-cultivated-thought bad. Yep, that kind of bad. There was no solace from the breakup. None. My ex had fully left his stamp on my Washington State- located heart. From sharing Pike Place doughnuts to taking the ferry for day trips across the cool waters of the Pacific, he had toured the village of my life and inexplicably had the nerve to find it lacking in amenities, like a spa that forgot to have a cold plunge pool yet had everything else under the sun, and that in the highest of qualities, but greedy consumers still gave it three and a half stars.