My husband has no idea how I feel about you. He doesn't have the heart nor the mind to understand the burning love I hold inside since the day of your visit. What crushes me inside is that I never told you of the feelings I have, since the first day you fired up the vaccum pump to suck the poop out of our tank. I cry a bit when I think of it. But they are tears of joy, for that action was a metaphrore, a cleansing of the S*** that my husband and I have harbored for each other...packed down below in a seething stench of brown sludge.
While you sat down for the lunch I made you, I must admit, I almost put myself under duress, thinking to hurtle myself into the septic tank so that you might save me. But then, I wasn't sure of your involvement. I only wish I had had the courage to ask you.
I have since attempted to jam our tank in hopes that you would come by, but it was always someone else. When I finally asked where you were they told me you had been shipped off to Iraq to fix the attacks on the sewer pipeline by the insurgents.
I know there is no CraigsList in Bagdad, and you probably won't read this, but on the offchance that you do, just remember that I think of you every time I flush the toilet.