Dear Guy-at-Work-Who-Is-Always-Trying-To-Figure-Out-A-Way-To-Work “How He Isn’t Technically Married Anymore” Into-Conversations-That-Don’t-Have-Sh*t-To-Do-With Anybody’s-Marital-Status:
Hey, how are you? Oh, that’s right — I already know. You’re not “technically” married anymore, haven’t been in love with your wife for a really long time (and vice-versa!), and it is definitely over; in fact, you sleep in separate rooms. The only reason y’all still live together is for the kids, but that is coming to an end soon as well. Really? You don’t say! Except you do, don’t you? Every. Chance. You. Get.
Look, it’s not that I don’t understand your situation. I just don’t care. If I cared enough to tell you that I think you are either a liar or a coward or both, I would do that. I just wanted to use that stapler…but, you know what — NEVERMIND! I don’t know about everybody else around here, but I, for one, would rather chew my own arm off than to have to listen to that sorry excuse of a sad-sack explanation for something that is none of my business — again.
I am writing to provide you due notice that if you start that sh*t one more time, I will be compelled to beat you to half-to-death with my chewed-off arm and/or your own stapler. And I will keep your stapler. God only knows why we only have two in the entire building.