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World's Best Divorce Letter
Dear Sandy:
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
one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always
you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my
pride needed that. But now I see that my pride has
cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I
don't miss you. I don't care about looking 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
they hurt. And this is what my heart says "There's no
one like you, Sandy." 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 Olivia's 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 *** that just
wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat
on your couch being blown by this stunner, I thought,
look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so 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
Sandy? I doubt it. And I'm never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little.
Later, after I tossed her about a half a pint of
throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel
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
it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't
feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do
you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without
you. Jesus, Sandy, I'm just going crazy without you.
And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Kim, that single mom we met at the
Little League field a few years ago? 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 beers and the next thing you
know, we're banging away in our bedroom. And this
chick is 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 a sudden, she
spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old
vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle
it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally
hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help
thinking, "Why didn't Sandy 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, Lee's just a kid and all,
but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and
she's 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, Sandy, she really is. So we're doing
Jell-O shots in a 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 Lee's really into the whole anal
thing, that gets me to 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 your baby
sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you.
It's true, Sandy. In your heart you must know it.
Don't you think we could 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.
If not, would you let me know where you hid the ****ing remote?
Love, Wayne
Dear Sandy:
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
one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always
you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my
pride needed that. But now I see that my pride has
cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I
don't miss you. I don't care about looking 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
they hurt. And this is what my heart says "There's no
one like you, Sandy." 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 Olivia's 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 *** that just
wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But as I sat
on your couch being blown by this stunner, I thought,
look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so 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
Sandy? I doubt it. And I'm never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little.
Later, after I tossed her about a half a pint of
throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel
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
it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't
feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do
you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without
you. Jesus, Sandy, I'm just going crazy without you.
And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Kim, that single mom we met at the
Little League field a few years ago? 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 beers and the next thing you
know, we're banging away in our bedroom. And this
chick is 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 a sudden, she
spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old
vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle
it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally
hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help
thinking, "Why didn't Sandy 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, Lee's just a kid and all,
but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and
she's 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, Sandy, she really is. So we're doing
Jell-O shots in a 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 Lee's really into the whole anal
thing, that gets me to 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 your baby
sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you.
It's true, Sandy. In your heart you must know it.
Don't you think we could 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.
If not, would you let me know where you hid the ****ing remote?
Love, Wayne
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