Each day I dial up my iPod, anxious to start my day the same way I start every day: with you, plunging your sharp stick into the soft, white underbelly of my morning.
Each night, I sit impatiently waiting for “Countdown” to start. Will you be on? Will you stay after to cheat on Keith with Dan Abrams? Will you be wearing too much rouge (seriously, have you done something to piss off the make-up people?). Even if you are, I won’t care. I can forgive you anything.
Our affair is causing tension in my marriage. Election nights are especially tough. I can’t turn away, can’t miss a moment. I wait, moist & ready, for the moment when you will turn to your left and tell Pat Buchanan to “Bloviate me.”
All my love, my love.