| Satire Fiction posted December 13, 2008 |
  |
Wife sends a letter to her old girlfriend.
The Devil made me do it.
by zeezeewriter
Contest Winner
Not every marriage is made in heaven.
The author has placed a warning on this post for language.
Dear Jezy:
I hope this letter finds you in good health; living in a brothel sucks. No pun intended.
The reason I'm writing is because your name was mentioned in a book the guys are putting together, a joint effort. I need to warn you; they do not speak well of you, just a heads-up on the bad press. It will appear in the new addition under historical events.
I’m much happier since giving up the stroll, but life is rather boring. J and I have been married for two years, and while I love him with all my heart ... things have cooled off in the bedroom, if you get my drift.
His constant soul-searching is getting on my last-good-nerve. I think he’s disappointed he married me, instead of pursuing, as he calls it, his ‘destiny.’ Frankly ... I think he suffers from delusions of grandeur. He’s a fucking carpenter; he needs to get over it. I don’t even have doors on my kitchen cabinets. WTF.
While he is a kind and loving man, I resent his friends loafing around the house, filling his mind with silly ideas. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were a bunch of pot heads. Can’t they just go fishing or join a bowling league like normal guys? I don’t have to tell you about writers, they’re convinced they’ll find a publisher and everyone in the world will read their book.
I know, I shouldn’t complain. I have a roof over my head, even though it leaks. If he would just spend some time with me, I’d feel better about being married. I wanted to go on vacation last month but he opted to go back into the wilderness alone and think. Yeah, like I believe that.
Every year it’s the same thing; he packs his tooth brush, jumps on his ass, and disappears for six weeks. I think he’s seeing another woman, otherwise, why take the toothbrush. Whoever she is, she’s one stinky broad. He comes home smelling like a goat.
His mother the “perfect one” stopped over last weekend. What a pain in the neck! Her whole attitude of “no one is good enough for my precious son” is getting old. If she gives my furniture the white-glove test one more time, I’m going to break her hand off at the wrist.
She’s done everything in her power to turn him into a momma’s boy. Every Christmas she tells the same story of his birth. Boo, fuckin, hoo, so she spent one lousy night in a stable. I spent half my life on my back in stables. To this day, I have straw marks on my ass.
She still holds to that old line that she was a virgin when he was born. Joseph may be slow but he ain’t stupid. Please, the woman’s a menace. Now she’s commissioned some artist to do a statue of her for their foyer. If you ask me, Joseph needs to grow a set of balls.
I feel sorry for J. She’s convinced him he is the son of God and that he blew his golden opportunity to fulfill his destiny because I seduced him in the garden. As I recall, he seemed to enjoy himself at the time, but come morning light, he was all repentant. Now it’s my fault the world is without a Savior.
He claims during one of his wilderness outings, God came to him in a dream, giving him instructions on how to go forth. It seems, dear old dad wanted him to hang on a cross for three days with a sword in his side, flanked by two guys with sticky fingers. I told him it sounded more like a nightmare from eating psychedelic mushrooms. He rolled his eyes and walked away at the mention of this. He is a true believer.
If anyone deserves to be crucified, it’s that no-good friend of his, Judas. I personally think he’s been dipping into the till. Everyone in town knows he’d sell his own mother for thirty pieces of silver.
J is steadfast in his love and devotion for this man, insisting on inviting him to all the meetings, setting a place for him at every table. We’re still paying for the last big bash. I asked him if the bill was split twelve ways. He said not to worry about such things. God will provide. Well, I hope God is a good tipper. My cousin works there as a waiter.
I gotta run; the guys are here. We’re headed out to another rally down at the beach. Two years ago they showed up with one loaf of day-old bread and two fish ... like that would feed anybody. This time, I called a caterer.
Your good friend, Maggie.
Dear Jezy:
I hope this letter finds you in good health; living in a brothel sucks. No pun intended.
The reason I'm writing is because your name was mentioned in a book the guys are putting together, a joint effort. I need to warn you; they do not speak well of you, just a heads-up on the bad press. It will appear in the new addition under historical events.
I’m much happier since giving up the stroll, but life is rather boring. J and I have been married for two years, and while I love him with all my heart ... things have cooled off in the bedroom, if you get my drift.
His constant soul-searching is getting on my last-good-nerve. I think he’s disappointed he married me, instead of pursuing, as he calls it, his ‘destiny.’ Frankly ... I think he suffers from delusions of grandeur. He’s a fucking carpenter; he needs to get over it. I don’t even have doors on my kitchen cabinets. WTF.
While he is a kind and loving man, I resent his friends loafing around the house, filling his mind with silly ideas. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were a bunch of pot heads. Can’t they just go fishing or join a bowling league like normal guys? I don’t have to tell you about writers, they’re convinced they’ll find a publisher and everyone in the world will read their book.
I know, I shouldn’t complain. I have a roof over my head, even though it leaks. If he would just spend some time with me, I’d feel better about being married. I wanted to go on vacation last month but he opted to go back into the wilderness alone and think. Yeah, like I believe that.
Every year it’s the same thing; he packs his tooth brush, jumps on his ass, and disappears for six weeks. I think he’s seeing another woman, otherwise, why take the toothbrush. Whoever she is, she’s one stinky broad. He comes home smelling like a goat.
His mother the “perfect one” stopped over last weekend. What a pain in the neck! Her whole attitude of “no one is good enough for my precious son” is getting old. If she gives my furniture the white-glove test one more time, I’m going to break her hand off at the wrist.
She’s done everything in her power to turn him into a momma’s boy. Every Christmas she tells the same story of his birth. Boo, fuckin, hoo, so she spent one lousy night in a stable. I spent half my life on my back in stables. To this day, I have straw marks on my ass.
She still holds to that old line that she was a virgin when he was born. Joseph may be slow but he ain’t stupid. Please, the woman’s a menace. Now she’s commissioned some artist to do a statue of her for their foyer. If you ask me, Joseph needs to grow a set of balls.
I feel sorry for J. She’s convinced him he is the son of God and that he blew his golden opportunity to fulfill his destiny because I seduced him in the garden. As I recall, he seemed to enjoy himself at the time, but come morning light, he was all repentant. Now it’s my fault the world is without a Savior.
He claims during one of his wilderness outings, God came to him in a dream, giving him instructions on how to go forth. It seems, dear old dad wanted him to hang on a cross for three days with a sword in his side, flanked by two guys with sticky fingers. I told him it sounded more like a nightmare from eating psychedelic mushrooms. He rolled his eyes and walked away at the mention of this. He is a true believer.
If anyone deserves to be crucified, it’s that no-good friend of his, Judas. I personally think he’s been dipping into the till. Everyone in town knows he’d sell his own mother for thirty pieces of silver.
J is steadfast in his love and devotion for this man, insisting on inviting him to all the meetings, setting a place for him at every table. We’re still paying for the last big bash. I asked him if the bill was split twelve ways. He said not to worry about such things. God will provide. Well, I hope God is a good tipper. My cousin works there as a waiter.
I gotta run; the guys are here. We’re headed out to another rally down at the beach. Two years ago they showed up with one loaf of day-old bread and two fish ... like that would feed anybody. This time, I called a caterer.
Your good friend, Maggie.
Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
This is a contest posed by Miskko. The idea is to write a story about a famous duo, or group and project what might have happened if things had turned out differently.
I don't expect everyone will leave a review for this. In fact, I expect most people will flee the vicinity for fear of lighting striking them. I apologize if I offend anyone's belief. It was not my intention. I respect everyone's right to believe. I am going to go hide now.
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. I don't expect everyone will leave a review for this. In fact, I expect most people will flee the vicinity for fear of lighting striking them. I apologize if I offend anyone's belief. It was not my intention. I respect everyone's right to believe. I am going to go hide now.
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. zeezeewriter All rights reserved.
zeezeewriter has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
