Dear Anna, Jessica ... Sarah? ummmm whoever ...,
By the time you read this, I'll be married. I regret to inform you that there were a number of contestants for my affections, and you were not the winner.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I finally got around to reading your "poems" this morning, and I figure that this is better than a bullet in the head.
I know this might seem like punch in the jaw
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say.
I want to tell you that I think you are ...more than passable, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an epic fail,
and I am addicted to raspberry muffins.
You like imitating 50s actors while shoe shopping, stabbing yourself with carrots, and disturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals,
and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things.
How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need a good laugh.
I'd really like us to become acquaintances,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, nah; I'm just screwing with you.
Take care of yourself and never forget all the people we've killed together.
Allah Ackbar,
~ Sheila (my street name).
P.S. You are the one billionth person to read this letter. Click here to receive your prize! D.S.