Every comment I got on my last post, said they would read the letter, out of curiosity, respect or obligation.
I’ll give my perspective (again) based on a theoretical story and yes, in the story, I opened the damn letter.
The story of Laurel and Loser.
One day Laurel met Loser. He was a hard-drinking, self-loving, egotistical narcissist who promised fidelity and happiness. Laurel, being somewhat naive, believed him.
He introduced her to his family…more hard-drinking, self-loving, sociopathic ego-maniacs.
His beloved mama was a two-fisted, vodka drinking know-it-all, who demanded complete and total loyalty from her oldest son…and made sure she was #1 in his life.
His daddy was a spineless, lily-livered coward who closed his eyes to the terrorism of his drunken wife and let her rule him and the roost, unchallenged.
His middle brother was a condescending, self-important, self-serving asshole who had a two-faced, back-stabbing wife.
After years of marriage, Loser died and most likely went to a great smoke and tramp filled corner bar. He had been a bully but Laurel was sure that he had always been an honorable and faithful man. She was elated when she received a letter he wrote to her before he left. She anxiously opened it.
This is what it said:
Don’t grieve for me after I’m gone, darlin’ because I want you to know that I really lived while I was here. I got to travel all over the country and all over the world while you stayed behind and babysat. It was glorious freedom and I really appreciate all the opportunities that you afforded to me because you trusted me to be faithful. You never even suspected that my marriage vows meant nothing while I was on the road…or anywhere else.
I had so much fun with the other women I met during our marriage and I really enjoyed all of those cheap, common tramps that I picked up in bars.
But there are a few more things I want you to know.
I wish I had made you go to college. Can you imagine how embarrassing it was for me to have to tell my friends and colleagues that my wife was uneducated? That’s why I always left you sitting by yourself at a table. You were clearly not intelligent enough to contribute to a deep, cerebral conversation.
I was disappointed in the children that you gave me. I always wanted sons, and my mama was right…it was your fault that I had daughters.
I blame you for my only sons’ alcoholism. It had to have come from one of your ancestors. There is no possibility (having been an alcoholic myself as well as mama being one) that we could have passed down that gene.
You were nice to have as arm candy but you were never really what I wanted. I liked slutty women who could drink me under the table (they reminded me of mama.) I liked pieces of tail who didn’t think twice about fucking a married man and who would (if I was able to get it up) have sex with me in the bathroom of our favorite bar. (You wouldn’t believe what they were willing to do and say for a little tax or tuition money.) I also liked women who looked, dressed and acted trashy.
When I got Herpes from one of them, it was my silent gift to you. You weren’t important enough for me to tell you I had it but remember, “if you care enough, it doesn’t matter.”
I always hated when you got praise for something you did or made because it took the attention away me. How could you possibly think that anything you did or made could come close to comparing with the wonder that was me?
I admired your strength until you started standing up to me. How dare you react to my abuse, neglect and hostility with anger! How dare you question my right to be selfish by asking for some attention! That, my love, clearly meant that you were insane.
So, sweetheart, don’t worry about me. I’m entitled so there is no way I’m not going to Heaven. The Almighty understood when I called myself God. But just in case I end up going to the other place, I’m sure that I will soon be the ruler! You can also bet that there will be plenty of tramps down there and they will all be HOT!