by Jay HOLLEY

Dar­ling B.M.G.,

I’m writ­ing to ac­knowl­edge your re­cent slew of threat­en­ing let­ters and omi­nous-sound­ing mes­sages left on my an­swer­ing ma­chine. I was in my apart­ment dur­ing most of your calls but I’ve been check­ing the Caller ID box be­cause I re­al­ly did­n’t want to do this over the phone, so I ner­vous­ly scraped the side of my thumb with my in­dex fin­ger while your voice took to tape.

Just so you know it was­n’t you. It’s sad but some­times these things don’t work out, and I don’t think there’s any­thing we can do to sal­vage ‘us’.

I thought De­vo’s great­est hits at $9.98 was a deal, but then you loaded on ship­ping charges and it turns out I on­ly want­ed three songs; then I was at the bar and it came down to You or three gin & ton­ics. I was tip­sy, but that’s no ex­cuse, we both know.

When I failed to re­ply to that sweet note you sent, you ex­press mailed me the new Brit­ney Spears al­bum. You’re so thought­ful, so an­tic­i­pat­ing, but I think you think I’m some­one dif­fer­ent than I tru­ly am. You’re the best, you know that, but the sparks aren’t there any more.

In your last let­ter you asked for $68.54, but let’s end it with­out pet­ty squab­bling or mind-games. I got some­thing out of our re­la­tion­ship, and I hope you did too. We had some good times, doll, but it’s over.

Fond­ly,

J.J.H.

Filed under Letters on December 15th, 2003

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