Dear Douche Bag, I'm sorry I went all Chuck Norris on you...

last night at the bar. It was very juvenile, but let me explain my reasoning.

You created the foundation for your assault over the years of our “friendship” (if you can call being hit on, stared at, and begged for sex* a friendship.) It was when I stupidly accepted a ride with you a week ago (thinking other friends would be riding with us) and you yelled at me in the car for hooking up with some other person (with whom I did not hook up) that I got angry. It wasn't that you besmirched my unblemished reputation as a lady, it is that you sincerely were offended that I would have sex with someone and wouldn't with you. That you were so interested in something so completely unrelated to you as people-that-I-would-actually-have-sex-with made no sense what so ever.

The framework for your injury was erected at the bar when you repeatedly pestered me to view a fat chick in little pants. This may come as a shock to you, but laughing and pointing at strangers in a bar on Aurora is neither a brilliant idea, nor is it in my style to openly and cruelly mock strangers. When I grabbed your hand to cause you to stop waving it in my face and you attempted to pull some man bullshit by proving that you are stronger than me, I decided that I would never again exert myself to pretend to like you. I could have gotten my hand free, but I didn't want to crawl down to your level by actually hurting you- yet.

The actual idea that I might have to cause you physical harm wasn't solidified until you told me that you thought it was kind of hot that I had put on some extra weight. I've always thought that it was pretty scummy when a guy puts a girl down in order to use her insecurities to manipulate her into bed, but when this tactic was actually used on me I was so shocked that I didn't take immediate action. It wasn't until you poked at my side for the 5th or so time that I recalled that I would have to tell you to stop it. I did and you didn't stop it. I told you that I was serious and you didn't seem to believe me. So I said don't touch me, but you didn't seem to believe that I was angry (which is partly my fault because I am so very quiet when I am very angry). Well, you didn't believe me until you leaned across my friend to jab me (for the 20th time) and then I grabbed your hand, pulled you close, and bent your finger all the way back while whispering “if you touch me again I will break all your fingers.”

You didn't seem to be terribly upset by my harming you (certainly less upset than when you thought it was unfair that I slept with Bob and wouldn't sleep with you) so I'm sure this is one of those no harm no foul sort of deals. I do, however feel obligated to mention that I actually will break your fingers or worse (probably worse, actually) if you touch me again. It is true, I have put on weight, and it is also true that you are stronger than me; but what you should be aware of is that I am trained in martial arts and I do not have to fight like a man. If you so much as touch my shoulder you will be clutching your crushed testes and wishing you had your teeth back.

So now, where was I? Oh yes. I am deeply sorry that I lost my temper with you. I very rarely do so and rarer still have I resorted to actual physical violence. I shouldn't have done so, it was inappropriate, and I am deeply ashamed.

This note has gotten long, so to summarize my points from above:
1. I am sorry.
2. But you deserved it (because...)
3. You are a dick.
4. I have never considered sleeping with you.
5. I will continue to not sleep with you.
6. I will no longer attempt to hide my loathing for you.
7. If you touch me again they will never find enough pieces of your body to send home to your parents in a standard envelope.

Sincerely,

me



*Only by the grace of God did you survive your last birthday party, in which you begged me to sleep with you about 20 times in the 10 minute ride required to unceremoniously roll your disgusting carcass to the curb in front of your home.