Seeing comedy in tragedy

I very rarely write about former relationships because I was taught that it's not nice to speak ill of the dead. (Just kidding! Or am I . . . .) No really, what I was taught is that if you can't say anything nice, you shouldn't say it at all. And while that rule doesn't apply to when I am sitting around with friends and family trading what seem to be witty barbs, it certainly applies to a written medium, and even more so to one that's as permanent as the internet.

But I keep thinking that there's something inherently comedic in this last breakup. Mostly because (1) I really didn't see it coming at all and (2) the location. And as someone who self-identifies as a writer, I can't get it out of my head without getting it down on paper. It plays out like a screenplay:

Enter scene. Urban IHOP, rainy evening. Girl walks into restaurant, in long coat, umbrella and shopping bags in hand. Sees boyfriend sitting at table, and goes over to him, grabs his hand.

You all can figure out how it goes from there.