A WOMAN WHO NEEDS TO GET OUT MORE ONCE WROTE A LETTER:
Dear Inspector Number 22343484JH5TW2,
I found your note in my pocket and just had to write you! Your succinct message of “inspected by 22343484JH5TW2” came through clear—I read between the lines; I get the love…yes.
Of course the garment fits perfectly, each thread lined up like little children before recess—is that a nod to the innocence of our budding but virtuous relationship? Although, I have a teeninesy bone to pick with you 22343484JH5TW2; there were two hanging threads on the left sleeve! Could not you have taken just a moment to snip them so that my garment would have been more than perfect? Don’t you see our connection by garment, tag, and little tiny slip of paper as an expression of our affair in that perfection? Oh, I suppose you were distracted by something…something…oh!—but wait!—who distracted you? Were you flirting with Inspector Number 456748GH8583J4? I can’t bear to think about it. Your eyes lifting to meet hers, just as you were about to scan the sleeves of my garment. Oh sigh! Oh Heavy Sigh~! What wounds we mortals partake of!
I shall forgive you that indelicate glance at the winsome 456748GH8583J4. In fact, I snipped the threads myself and placed those threads against my heart before tossing them away—why, they floated in the wind for a moment before touching down in the waste receptacle! Ah, light threads of my love, 22343484JH5TW2.
Oh! I can imagine you right at this moment, inspecting another garment—perhaps a jacket, a shirt, a pair of pants (or even shall I say it, under garments!?)—your keen eyes resting on a flaw, and upon seeing said flaw, you toss the offending garment into the rejection pile, or into the Big Discount Store pile, shaking your head at the messiness of life itself! Then, you turn to the next and it is silk and you rub the silk between your fingers and it is so soft and lovely and is that when you think of me, 22343484JH5TW2? Oh that it were so; oh that it were so. I think not. I think you are not thinking of me. I think I have been forgotten! Damn these mortal coils of hell!
In fact, I bet right now you are staring at that damnable 456748GH8583J4! I bet right now the both of you are sharing a lunch break together! I bet you have asked 456748GH8583J4 to inspect the shirt upon your own back (a private joke between you! Oh oh oh!) I can-not stand it. In fact, I am not wearing your garment again, 22343484JH5TW2! *SOB* I cannot bear to look at, to have it upon my body knowing you inspected it and then rejected its wearer. I will tear it asunder! Rip it apart!
But wait, it is a nice garment, after all. And with the two threads gone, well, it’s quite nice. And well, it seems there is another inspector on the horizon. Seems Inspector Number 67BD547584375SM8858548JFG48488FMN (see how much LONGER his number is and with the hidden naughty codes in it?) has sent me a secret message in a nice hugging pair of slacks!
So, I close this letter, Inspector Number 22343484JH5TW2. Never more. Never more. Alas.
With deepest sorrows to what might have been but too bad you messed up and missed out and now I’ve found another and too late for you,
One Who Shall Remain Nameless
I found your note in my pocket and just had to write you! Your succinct message of “inspected by 22343484JH5TW2” came through clear—I read between the lines; I get the love…yes.
Of course the garment fits perfectly, each thread lined up like little children before recess—is that a nod to the innocence of our budding but virtuous relationship? Although, I have a teeninesy bone to pick with you 22343484JH5TW2; there were two hanging threads on the left sleeve! Could not you have taken just a moment to snip them so that my garment would have been more than perfect? Don’t you see our connection by garment, tag, and little tiny slip of paper as an expression of our affair in that perfection? Oh, I suppose you were distracted by something…something…oh!—but wait!—who distracted you? Were you flirting with Inspector Number 456748GH8583J4? I can’t bear to think about it. Your eyes lifting to meet hers, just as you were about to scan the sleeves of my garment. Oh sigh! Oh Heavy Sigh~! What wounds we mortals partake of!
I shall forgive you that indelicate glance at the winsome 456748GH8583J4. In fact, I snipped the threads myself and placed those threads against my heart before tossing them away—why, they floated in the wind for a moment before touching down in the waste receptacle! Ah, light threads of my love, 22343484JH5TW2.
Oh! I can imagine you right at this moment, inspecting another garment—perhaps a jacket, a shirt, a pair of pants (or even shall I say it, under garments!?)—your keen eyes resting on a flaw, and upon seeing said flaw, you toss the offending garment into the rejection pile, or into the Big Discount Store pile, shaking your head at the messiness of life itself! Then, you turn to the next and it is silk and you rub the silk between your fingers and it is so soft and lovely and is that when you think of me, 22343484JH5TW2? Oh that it were so; oh that it were so. I think not. I think you are not thinking of me. I think I have been forgotten! Damn these mortal coils of hell!
In fact, I bet right now you are staring at that damnable 456748GH8583J4! I bet right now the both of you are sharing a lunch break together! I bet you have asked 456748GH8583J4 to inspect the shirt upon your own back (a private joke between you! Oh oh oh!) I can-not stand it. In fact, I am not wearing your garment again, 22343484JH5TW2! *SOB* I cannot bear to look at, to have it upon my body knowing you inspected it and then rejected its wearer. I will tear it asunder! Rip it apart!
But wait, it is a nice garment, after all. And with the two threads gone, well, it’s quite nice. And well, it seems there is another inspector on the horizon. Seems Inspector Number 67BD547584375SM8858548JFG48488FMN (see how much LONGER his number is and with the hidden naughty codes in it?) has sent me a secret message in a nice hugging pair of slacks!
So, I close this letter, Inspector Number 22343484JH5TW2. Never more. Never more. Alas.
With deepest sorrows to what might have been but too bad you messed up and missed out and now I’ve found another and too late for you,
One Who Shall Remain Nameless
2 comments:
harharhar...lovely.
Oh Kat. You crack me up! How funny.
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