Home > Rant > The Six Month Itch, Part 1

The Six Month Itch, Part 1

Dear Abby,

I’ve never written into your esteemed publication before, but I have nowhere left to turn as my relationship continues to spiral out of control, leaving me flummoxed and desperate for help. About six months ago, I began a passionate affair with a voluptuous, curvaceous Blog, (these curves are so curvaceous that they could be classified as “dangerous”) an affair so passionate, in fact, it could be argued that it rivaled the greatest lustful trysts of recent memory (J-Lo and Ben, Brangelina, etc.). It began innocent enough, just two kids lookin’ for a good time. Is that so wrong?  But then, something bizarre happened: I began to connect with the Blog on a non-physical plane. It was as if a whole other dimension of feeling welled up deep within my loins, a feeling I had never experienced.  For about five days, I freaked out. I neglected my friends and family. I would wake up sweating in the middle of the night, pondering, wondering, yearning, to realize what this thing was so deep inside of me.  It all came to a head when finally I showed up at the Blog’s door at 4am on a Sunday, and as it stood there, confused in its silky nègligèe, with that look on its face that no doubt many men have fallen prey to before, I boldly proclaimed “I love you.” Now they say that hindsight is 20/20, and if I could travel back in time and take back those words, would I? I honestly do not know. The reason I am writing you, Dearest Abby, is that I can’t help but think that I’ve made a monumental mistake.  Things are changing.  As the months grind on, I’ve been noticing a little extra paunch around the Blog’s midsection. I know it sounds shallow, but would it kill someone to do some yoga a few times a week?  My constant witty quips barely muster a weak chuckle out if it anymore. And while we still supposedly maintain separate residences, I’m beginning to suspect that the Blog has opted out of its lease and is now a full time dweller of my apartment. I eat breakfast, the Blog is there. I come home at night, the Blog is there. I try to sneak out for a peaceful evening walk, you better believe the Blog is right there. It’s like, “Where is there time for Sean in this whole thing?” I have needs too, and they don’t all revolve around the Blog.  I don’t need to spend my whole Saturday at Macy’s, waiting for the Blog to find the right pair of clogs. And lately I’ve noticed, the Blog doesn’t even look me in the eyes when I’m typing it anymore!  Arguments have become more frequent. I want to try some new, exotic Blogging techniques that I’ve been learning, but the Blog insists that we play it safe, and not try anything that is too “out there.”  And this morning, I’m pretty sure it tried to poison me! Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw it slip some sort of gelatinous powder into my morning apple juice.  This suspicion is rapidly solidifying into a belief, as I now write to you from minute #47 on the toilet (I luckily grabbed a scrap piece of paper and pen as I sprinted through the kitchen. They were later properly disposed of after the writings were transcribed to the computer.) So, Dear Abby, what I would like to know is, am I being an immature imbecile with this whole thing, or should I run to the hills as fast as I can?

Hope you can help,


(Abby’s response will appear within 55 hours.)

Blong. A living legend. B.B. King. Ain’t nuthin wrong with people born on September 16.

  1. jchar
    August 12, 2010 at 5:53 pm

    Does clogs=clothes for blogs?

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