Three weeks ago, I vowed to stop worrying about Andy dumping me. I convinced myself that I could live without him if he didn't like me. This meant changing my whole life style. I found I had no sense of humor if I couldn't make jokes about Andy leaving me. I spent half as much time doing the laundry because I didn't iron his T-shirts and underwear. And my clothes fit better.

For two weeks, I stood tall, like a stork in water, with nothing to do but spend the day switching the fragile leg I stood on.

But tonight, at this restaurant, some woman comes over to our table and begins fawning over Andy. Suddenly I become jealous, and slouch down in my chair, and Andy seems like a huge monster holding me up in the palm of his hand, ready to drop me at any moment, and I feel more secure than I have in weeks.