When my boyfriend pulled up in his Jeep, I stepped out of my house and prayed for death. I was a pro at pretending that I was okay after everything we had been through, but for some reason this emotion was harder to mask. As soon as I got in the car, I pouted to see if he could sense how terrible I felt. He didn’t, and that’s when I lost it. Sobbing through apologies, I sheepishly told him that I actually hated the dress, and I didn't want him to be upset. This time, he pouted, and coldly told me to go inside and change. Instead of reassuring me that it was not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, he said his mom could return it — which she did, and he made me go with her to do it. But man, did that pile on the guilt that I had offended him and his family.