Sure...I loved her. She was smart, attractive, polite and a total demon in the sack. Unfortunately, the perfection ended there. So what's the problem, you ask? Simple...she had a garbage mouth. No, I don't mean she cursed like a sailor, I mean her mouth literally smelled like garbage.

Beauty can hide a great many things, but it can't mask bad breath. Those sweet nothings whispered late at night into one's ear aren't nearly so sweet when it smells like you are lying in a dumpster. B.O. I could have handled. She was that beautiful. An uneven temperament would have been acceptable considering all her other great qualities. Even a Cindy Crawford "beauty mark" (known to us common folk as a mole) with three long hairs hanging off of it would probably not have deterred my affection.

Bad breath, however, is something I can't stomach. I often wondered, "how can she not know?" It wasn't as though she had a little problem. This was the kind of bad breath that showed itself in a brightly lit room. I could swear that after a half-hour makeout session, my face would stink. There's really no way to handle a situation such as this.

I tried the old, "I've got gum, would you like a stick?", but to no avail. My next option was, "I've got a toothbrush, some floss and a bottle of Listerine...care to give it a try?" but luckily it never got that far. She could sense that something wasn't right between us. Maybe it was the way I winced whenever she spoke to me. Maybe it was the way I avoided being close to her face. Maybe it was the welder's mask I wore on our last date. I can't be certain, but I do know that it relieved me to no end when she told me it just wasn't working out between us.

It relieved me even more that she told me over the phone.