Dear Joe

by marinashifrin

I nearly broke my neck diving out of bed to answer the phone. It’s him, It’s him, It has to be him. “Yeah?” Who answers the phone with ‘Yeah’?

“Hellooooo!” My mother yodeled, she called to ask about the latest charge on my credit card. I need to change my password.

This is going to be a short, and not-so-sweet post. More of an angry open letter:

Dear Joe,

I am far too cute to be waiting on your call this way. Every time it rings, my heart stops, thinking it’s you. It never is.

Do you remember the time we were trying to fix the toilet together, but ended up laughing until our stomachs hurt?

You were the first person I met in this neighborhood.

You have broken so many promises, told so many lies and I am sick of it. You only call me when you want something, how can you treat someone that way?

I even gave you a copy of my key. Does that mean nothing to you? I wish I had the chutzpah to march up to you, grab you by the shoulders and shake you!

But I can’t. 

I can though, hold on to this month’s rent until you come and fix the lock.

Lesson 9: New York City landlords are the biggest heartbreakers of them all.

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