Note left on a fridge from a man to a woman.

Reasons why I am unsuitable husband material:

1. I cannot provide you with adequate understanding and compassion.

2. I find your problems trivial and mundane, and I do not want to suffer through a life spent listening to you.

3. Though I appreciate your attempts to be funny, I am rarely tickled.

4. Your coyness is not funny to me and I see it more as a tool you use to get things you want, than a genuine expression of who you are.

5. You deserve someone who doesn’t view you with such skepticism.

6. Though I am moved by your physical qualities, I find our lovemaking colorless and devoid of creativity.

7. I question your sincerity when it comes to your taste in novels, movies, music and art.

8. I don’t value your opinions on politics or spirituality.

9. I feel like I annoy you when I am happy and I hurt your feelings when I am depressed.

10. I laugh too hard when your brother makes incisive remarks about your character.

11. I agree with your mother when she accuses you of being unkind.

12. I feel happiness when you fail to achieve your career goals.

13. I am unlikely to ever make enough money to provide for a child.

14. You don’t make me feel like a man.

15. Both of us are sarcastic, passive aggressive and listless.

16. We fail at inspiring each other to be better people.

Couple anecdote.

I took a break around four today and went to the Petro-Can for some snacks. I quickly grabbed some barbecue flavor Doritos, a can of Coke and one of the new caramel Mars bars. I met eyes with an attractive woman behind me in line and I smiled, immediately feeling shame for what I was about to consume. Here was this woman whose face was round and appealing, not unlike an apple or a plum. She was a little stout but certainly in the neighborhood of fetching, and I was about to stuff my face with a trifecta of wretchedness. Just when I was leaving though -feeling pretty damn bad about myself, I might add- I overheard the woman say, “I’m looking for the manager, I’m the Rothmans rep.” Now, isn’t that a juicy piece of irony right there? Here I was feeling like a world-class ass because of my appalling dietary indiscretions, yet I was dealing with a woman in the cigarette biz. On a side note, Rothmans cigarettes are the brand my father smoked and that eventually took his life, which perhaps peppered the situation with a bit of insult to injury.

When I got back to work it was time to pass my work by my boss. Jim’s a rather ornery guy who I’m reluctant to bother unless it’s absolutely necessary, and when I sheepishly entered his office he was scrolling thru someone’s photos on Facebook. One of the photos showcased a large painting of Alfred E. Newman on someone’s living room wall. Lurking over Jim’s shoulder I noted, “I’d hang a painting of Alfred E. Newman in my home, for sure.” To which Jim responded dryly, “who wouldn’t?”