Stop. Just stop.

Sweetheart, I know you’re just trying to be nice, but please. I know, I’m complaining about my marital status. Again. And I know you’d like it to stop. I don’t know why that douchebag stopped calling me after we made out, either. It doesn’t matter. It slows down like “For-ev-er” in The Sandlot as it crosses your lips: “Well, I’d totally do you if I was a dude”. Now we have to giggle and I have to politely decline your offer.

This is not making me feel better.

You know what would make me feel better? You know that the nice, single guy friend of yours I met at your party? Stop acting like he’s a priest and tell me when the fuck he’d be available to hang out again. That would make me feel better.