It was the wrong number that started it. At least she said it was a wrong number. But I know it was your mistress. Oh come on, dearest-- surely you didn't think I had no idea what was going on? Anyway, I'm divorcing you. And-- thank goodness for that prenup! --you're not getting a penny! I'm leaving for the South of France; when I get back I expect you to have cleared out, lock, stock and barrel. You’ll find a parting gift in the fridge: some bologna sandwiches and that potato salad you like so much. Have a picnic, darling. It may be the last square meal you'll ever get.
Your soon-to-be Ex.
P. S. Sorry, I forgot to give you the mayonnaise.
Last edited by Marion Shore; 04-24-2009 at 11:58 AM.
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