After publishing Simone’s anonymous ex-boyfriend letter, I received a lot of interest from people wanting to write their own ex-boyfriend or girlfriend letters. So, I would like to encourage anyone who’s interested in writing one to send it in to dayna.boyer@20-something.ca and I will publish it here. Think of it as free therapy with a sprinkling of closure.

And to be fair (because women do some crazy stuff too), here’s an ex-girlfriend letter from one of our male readers:

Dear ex girlfriend,

I wasn’t honest with you then, but with time, space and considerable distance I feel like I can be honest with you now. Our relationship was brief. I don’t think we were initially each other’s ‘type’ in a traditional sense and I think perhaps the ‘foreignness’ of our coupling could have hurt communication. I know personally that I allowed little things to distract me from larger issues; course correcting certain social faux pas for example. Letting you know that referring to me as your “chocolate lover” was probably not advisable is minor in the grand scheme.  Never fear, I never thought it was a racist thing. I just think it’s kind of gross. In any case, there are a few things that we should discuss, beyond non ironic racial identifiers, that might serve you well going forward.

a.Your boobs are ridiculous.

Honestly. To be clear you had them before I got there, but I think my initial feigned enthusiasm gave you a false sense of satisfaction. In my defense there was all that wine and the clever wordplay prior to the big initial unveiling. To have appeared unenthusiastic would have just been rude. In reality they feel like baked potatoes. With the aluminum foil left on. Imagine aliens moving into your house. They look weird. They don’t react the way they should. They just sit there, doing whatever it is they’re suppose to be doing. Eventually you give up trying to understand them and just ignore them completely. The particular analogy should probably clear some things up.

Oh there is one caveat. I have to grudgingly admit, the ‘”girls” do look stunning in formal attire. Strapless dresses truly demonstrated their gravity defying capabilities to best effect. However, I wish you would have used better discretion when you chose to employ them. All this to say thanks for making my cousin’s wedding awkward. I’m pretty sure you jump started the ring bearer’s ascent into puberty.

b.Your tattoo is unfortunate.

Let’s start with the location. I’m sure when you initially got it, the lower back seemed like an ideal location for a tattoo. It’s not your fault that the site became associated with strippers and porn stars. It’s unfortunate but not uncommon. The first dude to ever wrap a barbed wire tat around his arm must also deal with the stigma attached to what was initially a pretty solid piece of human billboard space.

It’s the tattoo itself that’s, problematic. I’m not certain what inspired you to place two poorly drawn cherubs kissing on your body. Let’s put aside the poorly drawn aspects. Such things are likely out of your control pre and post tattoo’ing. Not to be crude but there are very few times when one has a particularly good view of that area of the body. I think I can speak for most men when I say that during those moments, we aren’t often thinking about children, flying or otherwise. I’m going to go ahead and assume your proctologist isn’t impressed either.

So at this point it could be argued that I’m some sort of superficial jerk looking to tear you down post break up with things that have little to do with you as a person. Quite the contrary. I’m no psychologist but seemed like when we were together, you let things characterize you. The tattoo and the boobs were the ways in which you chose to ‘redefine yourself’ when you thought you weren’t good enough. Each was acquired at the end of a previous relationship and each was to service as an enticement you didn’t believe you could offer. You’re better than this and these self-inflicted crutches. I was around long enough to know.  You’re better defined by your love of stray puppies, pancakes and (shudder) smooth jazz than your bra size. I hope time has allowed you to see that.

FYI, my cousin (the ring bearer) says hi.