I apologize in advance if you possibly get upset that I’m telling you this by e-mail, but my shrink says that meeting you face to face would be just too traumatic for me.
I can’t live here any more. I’ve done a lot of thinking and I decided it would be best if I moved out.
Now don’t get all bent out of shape, ha ha. Let’s just focus for a moment on all fun have we used to have! The singing, the dancing, the running and jumping and skiing and riding horses and bikes. And the eating and drinking, the loving; the laughing and sweating and playing and working! Good times, good times!
But lately you have not been a fun body for me. So many times I’ve wanted to take you off and hang you up in the attic next to that grungy old North Face down parka I wore in the 60’s. Because, let’s face it, you are really, really, past your Use-By.
You snore. Your knees creak. You’ve got purple veins on your legs and brown spots on your hands and you have flappy things on your upper arms and a potbelly. You’re a real turn-off, you know that?
If you’re upset I’m sorry, but I am so not ready to deal with all your problems. I have my needs. I have my wants. Here’s what I want: a new body. A trophy body. One that looks good in a bikini. A body who understands all my needs and is capable of fulfilling them. I want more good times; sorry, but is that so terribly wrong?
I’m still young.
Sorry if you’re taking this the wrong way. Honestly. It’s not me, it’s you.
And, speaking of you, isn’t this breakup really better for you too? We have already drifted apart over the years, so why not make if official? Different paths and yada yada yada. Sorry if this offends you.
Have a Nice Day