Nothing says "I don't love you" like "Honey, I'm gay!" You could be honest and take her to the Majestic, hunker down over a slice of peach pie and tell her your love is as stale as the 1904 World's Fair, but please -- when it comes to breaking up, honesty is the worst policy. It's a lose-lose: Makes you feel like a dick for dropping the hammer; makes her feel like shit for getting dumped by you. So to hell with truth. Put on a ribbed tank and take your soon-to-be ex to the Loading Zone. Flex those pecs, grab a handful of some slutty-looking guy's ass at the bar, make your fake proclamation and blame the whole mess on physiology. (Gender/sexual preference disclaimer: Admittedly this recommendation applies only to heterosexual males. Gay men should consider a shower dance for the dumpee at one of the East Side's finer establishments. Lesbians, and straight women wary of playing the lesbian card (some guys are into that!), should drag the poor schmuck to a yoga class (see "Best Place to Meet Single Women").