Thursday, September 13, 2007


Dear Husband:

Here's the thing. I work really hard. And I work out like eight times a week. And now that I am (gasp) approaching the end of my 20's (think distant horizon, not this Tuesday), my body is starting to talk back to me instead of just letting me do whatever I want to do.

The other morning I woke up and I couldn't turn my head because my neck hurt so badly. Even though I have been working hours on end with people who sold their brains on Ebay whilst there are millions of dollars at stake, I personally think it's because I spend so much time wondering where the h*ll you are, husband. I don't mean to sound bitter, but I had to buy BenGay.

BenGay, husband. It's a wonder I didn't ask the pharmacist's assistant come home with me out of the sheer fear of mortality that it provoked.

And for your information, I am not a BenGay girl, husband. I don't break easily. I am flexible and supple. Elastic, really.

I am not trying to pressure you. I am just saying, look, husband, I would prefer that we meet each other while we still want to rub kamasutra oils all over our bodies as opposed to BenGay Maximum Strength on each other's necks.


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