Dear Bobbi-Sue,
I’m sorry I didn’t turn out to be the man you expected me to be. Yes, I do drink too much and fart in bed, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you!
Us divorcing is not the answer: working on our differences is. I mean; I didn’t especially appreciate your cottage cheese diet and the all-you-can-drink-prune-juice-diet, especially as we had a perfectly healthy deer carcass stuck in the windshield of our flatbed. Also, toilet paper is very expensive!
I have always allowed you to express yourself, no matter how insane the idea — because I love you. I never called you a pig, hoe or bitch as you did. Yes, I might have thrown a few empty beer bottles at you when I got in to my drunken rages, but again, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you.
All aggressiveness I shown towards you have been due to all the different Belgian monastery beers that I enjoy in liberal amounts! If you really want me to, I can switch to those gay-arse Coors Light beers, even though by buddies will poke fun at me.
Wanna’ take another crack at it?
Love,
Bubba-Joe.
