I was thrilled to have found "passion-scratches" and to have pressured him into confessing his sins, his unfaithful adventures: he had decided to shag another girl!  

An STI for my birthday? Why thank you. 

I've kinda always thought that birthdays, and the days before and after it, are sacred. Special times - when bad manners and behaviours are forgiven because hey - it's your birthday on Thursday! You're allowed to be excitable because hey, it was your birthday yesterday. And well, you're allowed to scream and yell, because hey, your boyfriend bloody well ruined it, didn't he?

It was the day after my birthday. I had just chucked a fit at the boy known-as-boyfriend-two-days-earlier; called in sick to work after crying and crying at my cousin's place, and then - for the second time in seven months - made the decision to go and get tested.

Yes, that's right! I was thrilled to have found "passion-scratches" on my now stupid-ex-boyfriend's chest two nights earlier. Absolutely thrilled to have pressured him into confessing his sins, his unfaithful adventures. And absolutely, over-the-moon thrilled with myself for letting him do this to me twice in less than a year: he had decided to shag another girl! Some slagface he worked with. Unprotected, a couple of nights earlier. And so, I made the decision to go forth and get the STI all-clear. Yay! Another STI clinic adventure. 

Lucky for me, I had some friends who organised an appointment for me very quickly, and got a lovely, kind, nurse-y shoulder to cry on (read: bitch to) whilst I went through my sexual history:

"Yes, I have been practicing unprotected sex."

"Yes, he was the only scum-bag partner I had been sleeping with."

"Yes, I had engaged in oral sex within."

"Yes, I'm on a hormonal contraceptive, so no, I'm not concerned about pregnancy."

"Anal sex, you ask? Hrm, no, not lately anyway. Not with that scumbag."

"And yes, yes you're right, it was my birthday yesterday (you can see it on my file, huh?). Thanks for the best wishes and all, but no, I can't say it was a particularly pleasant 24 hours."

"Yes, that scum-bag did seem to do a pretty good job ruining my birthday, huh?"

"Is he buying me a present? Well, hrm, he said he would, but that was before I went through his phone and found him sexting scum-girl ON MY BIRTHDAY, and before I gave him a piece of my mind this morning… so hrm, maybe not?"

"What did I get for my birthday? Oh, well, hopefully I didn't get an STI? But if I have done, I'd like to have contracted Chlamydia thanks."

"Well yes, it is an easy one to be rid of, huh? Just a couple of pills and ta-dah, my future fertility is protected."

And so it went on. I performed some magic with a urine sample (those containers really are small!), and went on my way with the lovely, kind nurse telling me to get tested again in 3 months.

"Yes, yes. I will be back. If just to have a three month post-breakup rant again."

A couple of days later I got the all-clear. If I'm honest, I was secretly disappointed. I wanted to have caught something, to go back and smear it in his cheating scum-bag face, and have yet another reason to go off at him as I moved my stuff out of, what my friend had dubbed our 'love-nest'. But no. He had picked a clean girl to cheat with. 

Ain't I lucky. 

SHFPACT thanks Kate, 24, for sharing this story. 

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