Dear Mistress
It appears that you think you have won the lottery…..indeed you have….but unfortunately it’s the Zimbabwean lottery and that aint worth too much.
Initially I felt very angry with you and I’ll admit I entertained some rather macabre revenge fantasies. I pictured him leaving you….at the altar….for me. I sniggered as I fantasised about the day he came out of the closet and we all went shopping for handbags together.
I completely blamed you. Yes – as if you had all the power and he was led, involuntarily, hypnotically, remote control-like, by the tip of his glans…..towards you. You were the predatory she-creature who honed in on the weakness of the man, with his selective shunt which only allows the blood to flow to one head at a time. Obviously we know where priority one was.
I totally excused him and put the blame all on you. What a lucky bugger he was. All the wrath that should have been directed at him, was diverted to you. So now…..I’m sorry but I’m not. I’m not sorry I blackened your name to such an extent that you feel more comfortable overseas. I will admit that I feel far more relaxed with you on another continent, for I cannot be sure of the power of my wayward fist when it may meet your jaw by-mistake-on-purpose.
So yes, lovey, you won! Why, you ask? You won because he left you too. You won because you no longer have to feast on another woman’s leftovers. You won because to be a millionaire in Zimbabwean dollars is nothing exceptional nor remarkable.
