Bonesnap

Like everyone else in this world I get email spam by all my friends, family, and co-workers. It has just become a fact of life.

Jokes, pray requests, check out this site, look at my kids, and scroll to the bottom of this email, Obama sucks, and the works.

It doesn’t bother me. Some is humorous some is just plain trash. I haven’t received my big check from Microsoft and Jesus hasn’t walked across my lawn yet either. I take it all in with a grain of salt.

However, every now and then I get a true gem. Here, is one of the funniest email’s a buddy passed along to me.

Now, I had just .jpg of the letter and it looked cool. But I couldn’t get the letter to display right on the screen so I had to re-type it.

Best Ever Divorce Letter

Dear Connie,

I know the counselor said we shouldn’t contact each other during our “cooling off” period, but I couldn’t wait anymore.

The day you left, I swore I’d never talk to you again but that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first on the make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my price needed that. But now I see that my price’s cost me a lot of things and I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss you. I don’t care about look bad anymore. I don’t care who makes the first move as long as one of us does. Maybe it’s time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt.

This is what my heart says: “There’s no one like you, Connie. I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they’re not you. They’re not even close.”

Two weeks ago, I met this girl at the Flamingos and brought her home with me. I don’t say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation. She was young, maybe 19; with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn’t believe and an ass that just wouldn’t quit. Every man’s dream, right?

As I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we made important in our lives. It’s all superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I’m getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie? I doubt it. And I’d never really thought of that before. I don’t know, maybe I’m just growing up a little.

Later, after I’d tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, “Why do I fell so drained and empty?” It wasn’t just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did if fell so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn’t fell the same because you weren’t there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I’m just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.

Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn’t eating right without a woman around. I didn’t know what she meant till later, but that’s not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we’re banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart’s a total monster in the sack. She’s giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she’s not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us. And all of sudden she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother’s old vanity. So she puts in on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it’s totally ho, but it makes me sad, too because I can’t help thinking. “Why didn’t Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We’ve had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy.”

Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicki’s just a kid and all, but she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she been a real friend to me during this painful time. She’s given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general. She’s pulling for us to get back together. Connie, she really is.

So, we’re doing Jell-O shots in the hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here’s this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry. And then it turns out Vicki’s really into the whole anal thing, that gets me to the thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I’m thrusting inside you baby sister’s cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you? It’s true, Connie. In you heart you must know it. Don’t you think we could just start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.

Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is?

Love, Dan.