I’ve had a lot of practice at telling women that their boyfriends are cheating on them with me.

Sometimes it feels as if I’m a military representative knocking on the door of a newly widowed army wife. “Hello, my name is Lena. You don’t know me but I’m a friend of your husband’s. There’s something I have to tell you. You might want to sit down for this.” And then without me having to even say a word, she can already surmise that something is terribly wrong. The man she loves is dead, or at least, her relationship is.

Some people attract commitment-phobes. Others attract loveaholics. I, on the other hand, attract a mutant combination of both: taken men who keep on looking. At first I thought this was merely a bad luck streak. But after being hit on, pursued by, or inadvertently involved with seven attached men in half a year’s time, I have determined that infidelity is not just something in the air. This is cosmic revenge.