An acquaintance—a couple I knew—invited me to celebrate the anniversary of their relationship. The girlfriend downed a glass of champagne, and that’s when things spiraled out of control. She began singing her boyfriend’s praises, but then let slip that, at the very beginning of their relationship, she had actually been carrying on affairs with two other guys—just as hapless as him—while she was «choosing the best one.» She went on about how lucky she was and how, all in all, she was happy with her choice. It was a colossal blunder, however, to blurt out that he was even better than the others in bed—thereby making it abundantly clear that she had slept with *them*, too. Everyone tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, openly hinting that she was starting to say too much, but once a girl has had a few drinks, there’s simply no stopping her. The poor guy—he went from beet-red to ashen-white, and his eyes welled up with tears.

He started drinking heavily himself; with the music and dancing, his «merrymaking» soon spiraled out of control, too. Before long, the party wound down, everyone headed home—and our couple did the same. By the next day, the news broke that the night they shared had been anything but passionate. First—for some inexplicable reason—he slashed and disfigured her face, tormenting her, and then he stabbed her to death so she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. He was sentenced to 13 years in prison—and to think, he had actually been planning to propose to her… instead, he disfigured and killed her. It truly is just one step from love to hate.