To No One in Particular

Dear ______,

I don’t care how much you look like Ryan Gosling. It is rude and disrespectful of you (males) to cut us (females) out of your lives without proper explanation. Especially if we’ve been on more than three dates and I’ve seen your penis.

I know you didn’t make me ravioli and buy the Jurassic Park boxed set because you were planning on ghosting forever after the credits. I could tell you genuinely liked me, my bangs and my crazy zebra ring. In fact, as a reminder, you found my quirkiness refreshing and adorable, because you’re an uptight suit. So what gives? That I still watch the Office after Steve Carrell left? That I never learned long division? Was it that I sang along with the Jurassic Park theme song, even though it doesn’t have words? Because if there isn’t room for John Williams in this relationship, I don’t want you to call, either.

There was a time when I wanted you to call. Then, there was a time when I wanted you to call to say that you weren’t going to call. Now, I don’t want to hear from you at all. Because frankly, I think you’re a dick. Why would I want to go out with someone who doesn’t want to be there, too? But I would like to hear that you realize you’re a dick. (You probably don’t, and have moved on to a girl who assumes she’s lucky to be with you.)

We all need to be more honest. Women are guilty of this, too. We’re guilty of leading men on, and need to shut it down. It might mean less free drinks, jewelry and sticking our heads out of limos, but dammit, HONESTY. I’m always honest about everything, usually to a fault. And if that’s why I never heard from you again, this wouldn’t have worked out much longer.

Bottom line: if you aren’t into a woman, tell her. If you don’t think she can handle it, think again. She can! (And the ones who can’t will learn.) That’s what friends like me are for: to coach friends through moments when assholes like you don’t call them for a fifth date.

Regards,
Elizabeth

PS I’m keeping the boxed set.