I could have texted you or called but this is one of those hand-written kinds of moments.
When I bought this card on Etsy I thought it was funny. I didn’t think I’d be using it but here we are. He probably won’t notice that the loopy, swirling, pale pink floral calligraphy on the front says I’m Leaving You.
The reason I’ve been acting different lately is not because of new meds, it’s because I’ve been having an affair. Yep. There you go. Me. The last person people would guess.
His name is Declan. He lives in Dublin. Yes, the accent is a big part of it but there are other much bigger parts. Should I mention he’s thirty years younger or is that rubbing salt into a wound? Fuck it.
Guess what? He’s thirty years younger than me! And, he doesn’t care that my breasts sag or that I have a belly. He makes me feel desired. Do you know how long it’s been since I felt desired?
BEFORE WE BOUGHT OUR FIRST MINIVAN.
He makes my heart rate go up to 145bpm (I checked).
Remember that time you thought you could make it in Stand Up? You made that joke? You said my vagina was so dry, you wouldn’t be surprised to see a tumble weed in my underpants. Everybody laughed so hard. I didn’t. But, guess what? That’s not the case anymore. With Declan I get lady boners that are epic. EVERY TIME. Sometimes, when we’re done, I think I pee-d my pants. How’s that for lubrication?
How did it start? Blame the algorithm. Ever since I started following this hunky carpenter on Instagram, reels have popped up on my feed of extremely fit men doing manly things, shirtless, their faded jeans low enough to show off their inguinal creases. If you don’t know what that is, GOOGLE IT.
Three weeks ago I hadn’t even heard of erotic audio immersion. I played the free sample. All it took was one, “Hello Darlin’ whispered into my headphones and I needed more. A lot more.
You probably think I’m being catfished but I did the research and he’s a real person. 6’4”. Bearded. Man bun. Yes, I like a man bun! He asks what I need. Want. Do I want it faster, slower, harder? Not once has he asked me ‘what’s for dinner?’ or ‘did you make a grocery list?’ or ‘where is______________ fill in the blank.
For 43 years I’ve had to put up with your snoring––it’s like a heavy metal band, playing jackhammers, in front of a jet engine. FOR THE 20 BILLIONTH TIME, GO SEE A DOCTOR!
The little smacking noises you make when you eat trigger my misophonia. And I am sick of your mansplaning.
Declan and I are not exclusive. He has 42,354 subscribers and been downloaded over 1,784,367 times. Whatever. I have to do this. FOR ME!!
So, this is goodbye. And this time, I mean it.
I wish you good luck finding those random screws you need for that thing, or receipts, pens, the jar of Kalamata olives. MOVE THE FUCKING BOTTLE OF KETCHUP!
Kindest Regards.
Mel Miskimen (she/her) pretends to be a writer living in the Hamptons working on her fifth novel (naturally, the other four have been adapted successful movies!) but, the nearest body of water is Lake Michigan, her two memoirs––Cop’s Kid and Sit Stay Heal––have not been optioned and the view outside her window is full of heavy machinery, barricades and other road construction debris.