"One night, near the end of the South Beach season, my friends and I made plans to attend one of our favorite South Beach haunts for a ‘foam party,’ where oceans of white foam are dropped from the ceiling and you find yourself dancing in it up to your waist. Jeanette told me if I went out that night, there would be no turning back. We would be over forever. I went out anyway. She had brought this on herself, I told myself. If we got back together, it would be on my terms, not hers. That night, near midnight, I looked up and watched the foam descend from the ceiling. It was a sight to behold. Then my beeper buzzed. It was Jeanette’s number. I knew she was calling to see if I had gone out. … I waded out of the foam to find a quieter place to consider my options."