From: Carmen Patel
To: Daniel Patel
Sent: Tuesday, November 9, 2010 10:31 AM
Not 15 minutes after you tell me there is noone elese in your life I get a call from a young lady asking if she may please speak with you. When I inquired who wass on the line the bitch abruptly hung up. She was very polite for a 18 years old. I know you've always been paranoid I am after one thing and only one thing. I bet you're convinced her infatuation is genuine.
I can't belive you'd do this to me knowing what I went through with mom and dad. I told you that if you ever wanted out I'd hold the door! It's not the deceipt, it's the unknown. I can't close my eyes without images of secretaries and whores popping into my head. Part of me desperately wants to believe your ever expanding pile of pathetic excuses, which makes me feel small.
I am outraged at the number of typos in the above admonition.
My emails are flawless. Why is proof-reading the exception in routine correspondences?
I am privy to such messages because I am an IT person. For the unnamed company that pays my salary, I am the IT department.
I am going public to spread the fun.
To spare us both unneeded suffering, I'll refrain from revealing career jeopardizing minutia.
The floor on which I work is cursed.
Very bad things happen to colleagues. I claim bad things happen to me.
Misfortune not only strikes on the job, but also after hours, for we are never safe.
Some believe supernatural forces toil around the clock to fill our lives with angst. I assure you that I am no supernatural force. I am, however, the antithesis of the stereotypical IT schmuck, and not because I lack testicles, can attract members of the opposite sex, and am covered with a healthy tan that barely fades during the winter months.
What separates me is my willingness to cheerfully do anything for anybody with whom I work. All they have to do is ask. And ask they do with great frequency.
Fellow thirtieth floor dwellers assume I make them happy, but my impact often devastates.
Perhaps devastates is too strong. Let's just say I leave them on edge 24/7.
Their actions torture me, why shouldn't I return the favor?
From: Daniel Patel
To: Carmen Patel
Subject: RE: call
Sent: Tuesday, November 9, 2010 11:41 AM
Honey, if I was doing what you accuse me of doing, why would I give my mistress our unlisted phone number? It was probably a telemarketer who hung up once she learned her target consumer wasn't available. They're only polite when a potential sale is possible.
How many times do I have to scream, I WORK WITH WOMEN, so it stands to reason their perfume would attach itself to my clothes? I can't exactly tell ladies in my office to keep a safe distance. "To prevent wafting, please keep every part of your body, save your drafting arm, perfectly still, and also, during the composition of this memo, stay at least fifteen feet away from me. Sorry about all the rules, they stem from my wife's recent psychotic behavior."
I gotta say--knowing I did nothing wrong makes this overwhelming. You have no clue what it's like being baselessly accused, especially of something this heinous. I treat you like a queen. Regardless, the moment doubt creeps in, you assume the worst . . .
I've done everything you've asked since you started going batty. I showed you time-stamped pictures of me exiting the parking garage on the nights in question. We went online and looked at statements for every credit and debit card I own searching for exorbitant withdrawals, or hourly hotel charges. I've agreed to phone you every thirty minutes. I've agreed to fill a cup so you can be certain it reaches the level of someone who's been unsatisfied since the last time we slept in the same bed, and to refrain from taking matters into my own hands for fear an underwhelming vessel would lead to even more unsubstantiated mistrust. No amount of evidence will convince you I've been faithful.
Remember that I am NOT your father and not every man is inherently programmed to lie and cheat on his wife.
I'm done explaining. I'm done feeling guilty for being true. Cheating has never entered my mind.
I'm sick of it and I'm about sick of you.