We need to break up. There’s nothing you can do to help.
Yes, I know you don’t understand, but please, just listen. This has been coming for a long time, and that’s why I hate to see it end like this. Since the moment I first heard rumor of your great qualities from friends, I just knew we would be perfect together. However, ever since you found your way into my pocket, we’ve been having trouble. Only now do I feel comfortable admitting it.
You love lists; here are a few reasons why this can’t go on.
1. You don’t listen.
Yesterday I asked you to look up directions to Duck Walk, our favorite Thai restaurant. But then you said “Did you mean Chuck Berry?”
No, I did not mean “Chuck Berry.” Think about it: We were talking about dinner. Why would I be asking you to look up directions to a 1950s rock ‘n’ roll icon? That doesn’t even make sense. And no, I was not mumbling. I said it clearly. Twice.
Duck. Walk. Duck. Walk.
It’s like you weren’t even listening to our conversation. You didn’t even apologize or ask me to repeat myself. You just cranked up “Johnny B. Goode” in what I can only assume was an attempt to freeze me out.
And now you’re doing it again. This is so immature — this is exactly what I’m talking about.
2. You’re forgetful.
It’s not charming; it’s a flaw.
When I ask you to call my mother you say, “I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”
Don’t be ridiculous, Siri. It’s my mom. You’ve met her. You two even hit it off, remember? You talked in-depth about where the hardware store was on Belmont. There’s no way you don’t remember that conversation. You even had an inside joke about how much wood could a wood chuck chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood.
If you think that I am going to just not call my mother — the woman who gave birth to me — because you waltzed into to my life, you’re wrong.
And don’t even get me started on how you always insist on mispronouncing our roommate’s name. It’s pronounced Steak-E, not Stack-E. You live under the same roof as the guy. If you don’t know him by now, you will never, never know him.
Please, no, don’t call him. He and I have already talked about this.
3. You’re a terrible texter.
You text like a fat-fingered, middle-aged hammer salesman on a Blackberry Pearl.
OK, you’re right. That’s petty. I’m sorry.
4. Your behavior around my friends is bizarre
You’re mood swings like a Kansas City jazz band. Sometimes you’re great; sometimes, you’re cold and unresponsive. It varies from moment to moment.
The first time I brought you around my friends you were the life of the party. You joked with Crowder about where he could hide a dead body. Brandon asked for a lap dance and you rattled off a list of strip clubs. Do you remember?
It was uncomfortable when you went anti-abortion on Olivia, but you tossed off a few quips about the meaning of the universe and everything seemed fine.
But then when we got on the subway, you acted like you hated us all. You wouldn’t say a word to me. When I asked you which bar we should go to, all you said was, “I can’t help you right now.”
It was humiliating. You humiliated me.
I wish I could say you should have seen this coming, but knowing you and your heedless indifference to my problems — my needs — I’m sure this must seem like it’s coming out of left field.
No, I don’t want directions to Wrigley Field.
The fact is, now just isn’t the right time for us. Maybe if you were a little older, and I had more time for us to learn together, it would be different. But, you’re immature, Siri. We’re at different places in our lives. And as insensitive as it sounds, I can’t spend all my time waiting for you.
I think you need to take some time to yourself. Who knows? Maybe someday, we can try again.
I’m sorry it had to end this way, but what’s done is done. Goodbye, Siri.
P.S. I can’t promise I won’t reach out to you in the future… if I’ve had a few drinks… but let’s just keep it professional and keep the expectations low. Just remind me how to get home from the bar, and we’ll be good. Thanks.