Dear Girl Who Is Currently Fucking My Ex
How are you pretty lady? I trust you are well? I’m enjoying my new hometown of Los Angeles. Are you enjoying NYC? I hear you are experiencing a polar vortex which sounds like it would be fun if it were a romantic action movie starring Matt Damon and Rachel Weisz and not brutal, cold weather. “Brutal Cold” should definitely be a movie title. It would star Clint Eastwood as a cop who can’t love again after the one two punch of a divorce from his long suffering wife, played by Anjelica Huston, AND the death of his partner, played by Frank Langella, in a freak ice fishing accident.
Any who, I’m writing because you are fucking my ex-boyfriend.
Which is great! Enjoy! There is so much to enjoy with him, wouldn’t you agree? What he lacks in attractiveness he certainly makes up in determination for the task at hand. The man should seriously consider a career change to pearl hunting in the Persian Gulf that’s how long he can hold his breath. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, GIRL! But I don’t have to tell you that!
Like I said, I am happy you two crazy kids are fucking. But I am unhappy that the way I found out was through a Facebook photo of you in the home I used to share with him. And let me clarify – it wasn’t a photo I had to dig through your profile to find. I didn’t need to stalk you (though now I do). It’s your fucking profile picture. Your. Profile. Picture. Allie.
In it you are smiling, deliriously happy and bleary in front of the walls I painted canary yellow in the hottest August New York had ever seen. You’re gleeful next to the dining room table where – you guessed it- I too once fucked! You’re standing on the floor I legitimately scrubbed like I was the Little Princess after the money stopped coming through to Miss Minchin’s Boarding School. LIKE A SCABBY KNEED SERVANT OR A NEW ORPHAN, I SCRUBBED THOSE FLOORS. I wanted to make a home. I wanted things to be nice and lovely and I failed. Your photo blindsided me and kicked up delightful feelings of failure, heart break, and separation. Thanks!
Lady, dear lady, we were friends. Real life friends. And you let me find out about your fuckery through a Facebook photo. What a belittling and unnatural situation. What a cruel trick to play on your friend. You could have just rung me up and given me a heads. You could have texted me “Yo T, Fucking M. Still love you, boo,” anything would feel more dignified than finding out on Facebook like some kind of more modern Bridget Jones. CAN YOU IMAGINE what she would have done had Facebook been invented? It would have been called Bridget Jones: Murder/Suicide.
Dear girl who is currently fucking my ex, I’m not mad at ya. I’m hurt. Hurt and sad that you couldn’t show even a shade of kindness or consideration. I honestly hope you are never the un-considered, ex-girlfriend looking at a Facebook photo of the new girl standing in the apartment you tried to make a home with your ex. And If you ever are, I hope the experience fuels your writing (or whatever you are passionate about) the way you have stoked mine. And don’t be afraid to un-friend that girl the way I am going to unfriend you right now. So hard.