Dear Boys

With tongue firmly in cheek:

Dear Boys,

If the words “I love you” have passed between us.
Don’t booty call me.
(even if it was in the backseat of your Dad’s car. If I said it, I meant it. If you lied, you’re a dick)

If you just broke up with your girlfriend, or have “lost the passion” with your wife.
Don’t booty call me.
(uhh… flattered that you thought of me but we dated a lifetime ago. What colour are my eyes? Yup. thought so)

If I’ve ever sat at your table and eaten your wife’s most excellent three-cheese lasagna.
Don’t booty call me.
(variety may be the spice but only for cooking… by the way, does she give out that recipe?)

If I know what your daughter is doing this weekend because we’re Social Media friends.
Don’t booty call me.
(you may want to drop by the party she mentioned)

Because Dear Boys, although I love the smell, taste and touch of you…

And though I very much appreciate the offer of the loan of your penis on the wife’s yoga nights or when you think you might be able to schedule doing me a favour

It will be a hot day in Iqaluit before I will be anyone’s second choice.

I was good enough to hold the title of girlfriend, wife, meet your parents, your kids…
I am not a booty call. Not now, not ever.

Thank you.

PS: If you’d like to swing by with the family and lend a hand picking up groceries, or painting the living room, have the wife give me a call to set up a date.

~ kei
25 November 2013

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