Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Open Letter

Dear Working America,

A few months ago, a representative of your fine organization came to my door. We had a nice conversation; he even complimented my "Dave Barry for President" bumper sticker. As a token of appreciation, I put my signature on the letter he had with him, and wrote a small check.

That said, we need to talk. You see, it was a one-time thing. We’re through. Don’t call me; don’t email me; don’t leave flyers in my mailbox telling me to vote Yes on issues 5, 7, and 9. Please don’t be upset – it’s not you – it’s me. You see, I’m not getting any younger or skinnier. Why, in a little more than a year, I will be forty! And the guy you sent to my door was, you know… really cute… probably young enough to be my son from some random teen pregnancy… plus, the man was a great conversationalist, and Mr. Goldie wasn’t home. I am but a weak human. I gave in to my urges and signed the darn letter and wrote the stupid check. We all make mistakes! Question is, are we mature enough to clean up our act, turn a new page, and move on? I am.

Therefore, I think you should start seeing other people.

You may start with Mr. Goldie. I’ll give you a hint – he gets all bank holidays off, and I don’t. I assume you have hot female reps working for you?

Good-bye, Working America. It was the best fifteen minutes of my life.

Thinking of you,

The Goldie has spoken at 9:23 AM

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