A Letter to My Ex
So I came home from a long day of work at the fanny-pack factory to a pretty empty house. All of your stuff is gone. Even the expensive video game system I bought you for your birthday last year. As I’m writing this, I’m still in a state of shock. I mean, I thought maybe you were kidnapped, but I haven’t heard anything about paying a ransom or contacting the kidnapper or any other stuff I saw in that Mel Gibson movie. Also, I noticed that you logged in to several social media sites recently and talked about how you’re “happy to be out of a toxic relationship.” You also mentioned how you’re “definitely not kidnapped.” So I guess that’s it. I guess you broke up with me.
This comes as news to me, especially since I thought we would be together forever. Ever since the day we met at that yard sale, trying to buy the same vintage “Exercycle,” we have been inseparable. Except for when we would break up for weeks at a time. We were definitely “separable” then. I should have seen this coming, I guess. I should have known something was up when I found that cobra in my drawer the other day. I thought maybe it slithered out of the toilet, opened my chest of drawers with its snake-like nose and nestled amongst my underpants, socks, and adult magazines. Now I’m starting to suspect foul play.
Why don’t you want to be with me? Is it because I always open the bag inside of the cereal box all weird? Is it because I lock myself in the bathroom for hours after you beat me at Chinese checkers? Is it the face I make when I eat buffalo wings? I’m searching for answers here. Is it because I always smell like hotdogs? Or is it because I often pass wind during lovemaking? That only happened a few dozen times, Pam. Please don’t do this to me.
I’m not going to beg you, but let me remind you that you’ll never get a whiff of these thighs again. Let that sink in. You think you’ll be better without me? Fine, but good luck finding someone with shoulders as hairy as mine. Okay, maybe you will find someone with very hairy shoulders, but will he also be a complete coward like I am? Yeah, right. Remember that time we got mugged while on vacation in Detroit and I pushed you towards the mugger and ran away? Well, I don’t know how many times I need to apologize to you for that. I was wrong, but I guess it’s too late for apologies.
I’m not trying to guilt trip you here, but I’m going to go sit on the washing machine and eat macaroni & cheese…with a boot…off of a dartboard. Or maybe I’ll watch “The Notebook” and take a long bath like you used to do. Earlier, I tried to see if you were at our favorite restaurant, but I had to leave because I was getting tears in my burrito. This is what you’ve done to me. I hope you’re happy with yourself.
I want my pajama pants back, Pam. And you will never have eyebrows as luxurious as Dave Navarro, no matter how much you wish you did. I’m sorry, that was mean.
I love you.
P.S. Please erase all of the “sexual texts” and “penis photos” that I shared with you. I do not want those to get out in public. Not that I’m embarrassed, I just don’t want to make anyone jealous.