Dear Gerald…

Dear Gerald,

Well, this is it – I have finally left you. I think that I have tried to be a patient, kind, loving wife and I have put up with a lot over the years, but you have finally pushed me too far.

I should have known that marrying you was a mistake when you disappeared for an hour on our wedding day and came back with lipstick all over your collar, making up some story about having to go to the bank and having some woman faint on you. Despite my scepticism, I decided to believe you because marriages are built upon trust. Trust that you abused time and time again.

Like the time I found you in bed with my sister. You had claimed that it was a very cold day and that you’d both got into bed to conserve heat – so why were you naked? You don’t keep warm by taking off all of your clothes, do you? Despite the condom wrapper on the bedside table and the fact that you had my sister’s underwear on your left ear, I decided to accept your story.

A little more difficult to accept, however, was when I found you in bed with my brother. You can imagine how upsetting it was for me to walk in on your husband and your brother in bed, without even taking into account the fact that you were wearing Teletubby costumes and spanking each other with cucumbers. Oiled up cucumbers, I hasten to add.

Of course, it was all a misunderstanding. When you both explained that you were rehearsing for a surprise show you were going to put on for me on my birthday, I apologised profusely to you both. What a fool I was to believe you. My birthday wasn’t for at least another 10 months!

I nearly left you last year when I came home early and walked in on you looking at indecent images whilst the suction pipe of the vacuum cleaner was attached to your genitals. I don’t know which was more upsetting – the fact that you were watching two cartoon penguins having sex on the internet and quite clearly enjoying it or that you were befouling my precious Dyson. Needless to say, I haven’t been able to watch Happy Feet again. Nor use the Dyson. It now smells funny.

Still, again, you came up with some story about cleaning the computer keyboard with the hose attachment and it slipped – just as you were getting undressed to go in the shower. At that point I was past caring, so I just forgave you. I really have no idea why. Marriage is a lifetime commitment, I suppose.

It’s not like you make up for things in other ways – you never helped out around the house, didn’t do any of the little D.I.Y. jobs that needed doing – in fact, you were a lousy husband. You left the towels on the floor, the toilet seat up and, yes, I realise that most men pee in the shower, but you must be the only man who thinks that it’s OK to defecate.

I was willing to accept all of these little things, just for the sake of harmony, until today. You know that it is my ‘time of the month’ and yet you ate that chocolate bar I left in the fridge. My chocolate bar. My last chocolate bar. My only fucking chocolate bar. You scum-sucking piece of shit. You can do anything you like to me, but eating my bar of Dairy Milk during my monthly cycle is a step too far. You’re lucky that you were at work when I discovered this because if you’d have been here, you would have now been at the Emergency Room asking the doctors to re-attach your testicles after they’d been hacked off with a rusty bread knife. Instead, I’m just leaving – for good.

Goodbye. Thanks for ruining twenty-five years of my life. My lawyers will be in touch.

All my love,

Ethel.

p.s. Your dinner is in the fridge.

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About A.D.S.

You are reading the musings of a music-obsessed forty-something who was brought up on The Beatles, lived through Britpop and now spends his time in pursuit of the best music around. This 'blog gives me an outlet to write about the huge number of albums I buy and the many gigs I go to. All of the opinions expressed are my own and if you don't agree with me, then I understand - music is a very personal thing. I like to receive comments, especially if they're nice ones.
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