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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear 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.
~ Sheila (my street name).
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