"This is Just to Say..."

Yvette,

Good morning.

I'm off to work. I hope you'll take the time to read this small note before you start your day.

I know this may sound somewhat harsh, but I truly believe that if we are going to continue to see each other romantically, there are a few things we need to get straight.

Like what, you ask?

First off, I'd like to remind you (again) that my name is Jeff and not "Angelo".

It has been a full year and a half that we've been seeing each other, and I'm hoping in the future you can make the small effort to get my name right.

When we go out with your friends for a night on the town, I hope you can restrain yourself from standing up and shouting "This one's on Angelo!!" every time a round of drinks comes to the table.

I am not made of money.

And there is that name issue again.

Though I find this a little difficult to say, I'm going to say it anyway: I never asked you to move in to my apartment.

I'm not sure where you got this particular impression, just as I'm not positive what compelled you to sell my furniture, knickknacks, and impossible-to-replace memorabilia at a makeshift yard sale while I was visiting my parents last autumn, but it's got to stop.

Will you contact the people who purchased my sectional sofa, DVDs, and priceless collection of Edgar Allan Poe first editions and tell them I'd like them back?

Thanks.

Also, I know the idea of having those cute "Love Is" cartoon characters printed up on my business checks may be appealing to you, but I'm not really a fan. Please contact my bank immediately and have the checks switched back to good old Safety Blue.

While you are speaking with them, would you have your name and personal information removed from my personal checks? It's been making me nervous for quite some time.

Though it may seem painfully obvious, I'll make the point anyway: I can no longer work as a shoe salesman at your father's discount shoe warehouse.

What made me give up a promising actuarial career is beyond me, but I can no longer tolerate Italian leather pumps and "to die for" plastic sandals. Please inform your father, brother, uncles, and that family friend who does nothing but stand outside the store smoking cigarettes, that I will not be returning.

A few other facts you may wish to brush up on (feel free to clip this out and keep it with you as reference):

- My brother is in the Peace Corps; he is not a mercenary.

- My parents live in Vacaville; not "Toiletville", as you insist on saying.

- My car takes unleaded gas and not diesel.

- Marking "Yvette's Birthday!" on my calendar on the 27th of every month isn't fooling anyone; please don't expect presents or dinners on those dates.

- I am not left-handed; buying me left-handed merchandise is not only useless, it is irritating.

Most importantly, if I wake up one more night to find you dangling a "magic crystal" from a chain right over my face, you can consider this relationship officially over.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, Yvette.

I'm sure that we have a wonderful future ahead of us.

Well, I'm mostly sure.

Just be sure to get your name off of my checks, though, okay?

Yours,

Jeff