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By Misti Date: 2002 Feb 15 Comment on this Work [[2002.02.15.22.36.16136]] |
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Dear Adam, I sense that your debonair flair is a mind game. In fact, I felt rather kinderwhorish last weekend when you bought groceries and lingerie for me and ordered a bottle of wine for me at the restaurant. And as we made love, you spoke to me in French. I don't understand French, number one. Number two, Spanish is a helluva lot sexier. I know you were sloppy drunk on Saturday night, but it made me sorta queasy when you said that oral sex is just one almond in the candy bar of love. I'm not quite sure what you meant by that but it sure wasn't poetry. On Sunday morning I felt more like your combatant than your girlfriend. You reminded me of my grandmother when you chastised me for not going to church. Religion is obsolete. Why bring it up? I thought I told you on the night we met that I made the conscious decision to denunciate fundamental Christianity when the youth minister at my church said that Jews and John Lennon won't be in Heaven. Besides pissing me off, it made me want to go to Hell. As a lapsed Catholic I'm not sure you can appreciate my dilemma. I've always been idealistic when it comes to love but even in strictly realistic terms I don't foresee a bright and bubbly future for us. The aluminum foil ball you showed me before I left your apartment on Sunday night was portentous. I'm so glad you recycle...good for you! But all I could think of when I saw it was "Pee Wee's Playhouse." I always preferred Cowboy Curtis to Pee Wee. No, we can't be friends or have drunken is-this-really-the-end? sex. Don't regard this letter as rejection. I'm saving you a lot of money and years of therapy. Love, Loretta |