An Ode To My Ex-Wife, Brenda
I know you're reading this, Brenda, you fifteen-cent, day-old croissant. You took my entire circulatory system and filled it with tar. You took my hopes, my aspirations, my collection of miniature succulents, my cat. You took my cat, Brenda.
I've got a Valium manhattan in front of me, although I may have been a bit heavy-handed with the garnish (also Valium). This stemless martini glass reminds me of you; it's brittle, transparent, and full of questionable pharmaceuticals.
Give me back my cat, Brenda. He never liked you or your fat dachshund.
