Dear Jane,
It is with deep sadness and regret that I am writing to inform you that I must ask you to release me from our understanding. I've tried, I really have, but I just can not see a future for us.
Everyone tells me how great you are...how smart, how witty, how subtle and while I am sure this is true, I am afraid that I am unable to appreciate your many talents. Whilst undoubtedly well constructed, your repartee makes me yawn. Your endless matchmaking machinations would make Machiavelli burst with pride, but leave me uninspired. Perhaps, if your carefully observed vignettes on social convention and etiquette, did not feature endless twittering or scheming matrons, clueless buffoons and simpering, passionless virgins, we might make a go of it. Maybe, if rather than attempting to ridicule the Gothic novel, you had embraced the genre, I wonder if we could have achieved such heights of understanding.
I know that many people love you, but I, alas, do not. So, my dear Jane, it is surely a far better thing that we reconcile ourselves to a parting of ways now to save any further heartache. I'm afraid that I will never find your books interesting no matter how many people sing your praises.
Yours Sincerely,
A Modern Woman, who really doesn't get the whole pursuit of a husband thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment