**Once again this is fictional. I used to believe that was obvious, but clearly it isn't. The incidents below are a mish mash of stuff from women I've known over the last few decades. It is NOT about anyone I've dated in the last 5 years.**
It is with some regret that I write you this letter. I had such high hopes for us when we started dating but it seems I can do no right in your eyes and so I have decided to pull the plug on, let’s face it, a totally frustrating experience for the both of us.
A few pointers that I’d like to clarify before we part company:
1). You have stated on numerous occasions that you wish I was “more like your father.” This despite telling me repeatedly just how much you hate the “evil old bastard.” You have even cried on several occasions recalling the trauma of him giving you money on your 16th birthday and then taking it off you to pay for the horse he got you a month previously AS AN EARLY 16TH BIRTHDAY PRESENT. (Please read that last line to yourself again slowly. I doubt it will make you see what a spoiled little bitch you really are, but it might).
2). You have told some of your more gossipy friends that I have a low sex drive. This is an unfair, nae libellous allegation as I like sex as much as the next man. However when you sit up in bed reading 50 Shades of Grey and breaking wind it really isn’t an aphrodisiac. Call me over sensitive but flatulent women who idolise fictional perverts, do nothing to strengthen my libido or desire to achieve an erection.
3). You kicked off a while back about me wearing thermal underwear to work. This despite knowing that I work outdoors 50% of the time and that day it was -2C outside. You stated how unsexy they were and that I wouldn’t have you “to keep me warm at night” if I wore them. Worse still you seemed to think such a selfish, twatty stance was entirely justified. Try standing in the cold for five or six hours wearing just an Anne Summers thong and a skirt and if your fanny lips aren’t frozen to your inner thighs by the end of it, and you haven’t lost the ability to bear children…then I’ll concede you had a point.
4). One night we were getting romantic on the sofa (on a night when you weren’t farting or reading trashy fiction) and a spider the size of my fist ran across the lounge floor. I was obliged to kill it due to your ear piercing squeals and the fact that the sofa wasn’t designed to be stood upon by a hysterical woman. Call me oversensitive again, but the resulting “crunch” noise and gory mess killed any desire I might have had to get saucy with you. You have forever remembered this incident as the night I “acted like a flaccid wimp just because I had to kill a spider.”
5). I don’t dislike your friends just to be a “vindictive bastard”, I just hate some of them because they are such utter twats. Joan is a spiteful gossip with hips the size of a hippo’s and a penchant for wearing tight, black, leather trousers. Do you know how traumatising it is to see a woman THAT fat in tight, black, leather trousers? You state Joan is single because “most men can’t handle her”. Truth is most men think Joan is a vicious, opinionated dog with a face like a blind cobbler’s thumb. There is no conspiracy here. Similarly your aerobics partner Sam is an utter slut. She banged Steve and Martin ON THE SAME NIGHT at the barbecue we held last June (Steve in the downstairs toilet and Martin in our bedroom). She also tried it on with me but as she is virtually a walking Petri dish by now…I politely declined.
6). You have a habit of hitting me when I either don’t argue or argue too much when you are going off on one. The two occasions I physically restrained you from attacking me you turned on the “Vulnerable Female” switch and remembered the incidents as “the night you pinned me to the wall and hurt my arm” and “the night you locked me in the wardrobe like an animal.” I’d like to remind you that on both occasions you had punched me in the face and tried to scratch at my eyes with your fingernails. Locking you in the wardrobe was merely to prevent further injury to you or myself…but I guess you don’t see it like that.
7). Finally, I concede that it was horribly traumatising for you to have been mugged 12 years ago and to have been thrown to the pavement, kicked and to have had your handbag stolen. However, you manage to work this incident into virtually any conversation about other people’s experiences, regardless as to whether or not they’re similar. My 10 year old nephew Jacob is horribly bullied and has had to change schools once due to the victimisation he suffers due to his eczema. When he bravely sat there and told his assembled family how he was starting to enjoy being at school again and hadn’t wet himself or got so depressed that he wanted to throw himself in a river, we all applauded and said what a brave lad he was. All except you, who after a pause said “that’s like what happened to me…” Please believe me, I really don’t care that you were mugged any more and neither does anyone else. Get over it and stop boring everyone to death about it.
Finally, I am fully aware that you have been shagging the milkman. His recent spell in hospital was due to me giving him a kicking when I confronted him with this information last Tuesday in the Dog & Hammer. He seemed to think because he was drunk I would be a pushover and initiated a fight that resulted in him needing stitches to his head and very sore testicles. Don’t get any hopes up about me getting arrested for this though, as the police have already seen the CCTV footage and concur that my actions were self defence.
I’ve also told the dairy he works for, so hopefully he’ll be out of a job before the week is out.
I’ve changed the locks and left your crap in bin liners on the porch. All the shit you bought me is in there too, including that ghastly “I Love Santa” jumper from last Christmas. I thought you’d got me this as a joke but you said with utter sincerity “maybe you’ll look more like Colin Firth now” when I opened the monstrosity.
I’ve blocked your email so don’t bother replying as it won’t get read.
Now fuck off
The Ex Boyfriend.