Bonjour from the city of love! I don't have much space on this postcard, so I'll keep things brief. I'm heading to the all-you-can-eat crêpe buffet soon anyway. My new lover, Jacques, doesn't mind a woman with a few extra curves. More cushion for the pushin', you know?
Oh, you should see him. Jacques is quite the looker, a total zaddy. Like George Clooney without the drug problem. I'm talking high cheekbones and a strong jawline. An accent that can turn cheddar into gouda. Washboard abs you could do two and a half loads of laundry on. I'm pretty sure the Paris Match magazine even called his body the eighth natural wonder of the world.
And he's so creative with whipped cream!
Anyway, I just wanted to say that I hope you're happy with your new girlfriend. Oh yes, I've seen the Instagram posts, the videos of the two of you doing the Electric Slide on rollerblades, the pictures of you donating plasma together. I saw the change in your relationship status on Facebook. I wasn't stalking you or anything; someone sent me the links the other day. I think it was when Jacques was taking me to the Eiffel Tower. He's thoughtful like that.
Well, just do me a favor, would you? Don't bother calling me. I won't be coming back to you. I'm too busy having the time of my life.
Wish you were here.
***
Ciao from the land of pasta and pizza! Forgive any misspellings or chicken scratch in this letter. I'm currently writing this from a gondola, because Lorenzo absolutely insisted. I swear he adores the water almost as much as he adores me.
Oh, that's my new lover, by the way. Believe me, he's very handsome, with abs and cheekbones too. The total ninth natural wonder. Tall and dark and mysterious, like the kind of guy you'd find on the cover of a pirate romance novel. Or like George Clooney with the drug problem.
Don't worry, back in Paris I let Jacques down easy. Gave him the old "It's not you, it's me" line. Remember that one? I'm sure you do.
Irregardless, Jacques is so last month, and when in Rome, right?
We visited the big art museum here yesterday, the Accademia Gallery, Lorenzo and I. Trekked past marble sculptures and oil paintings and a weird urinal structure that I'm pretty sure is only there as an emergency toilet and isn't actually art at all. It was really quite lovely.
When we came to the last room, the one with the Statue of David standing in the center like a nude superhero, it made me think of you. I'll give you one guess why.
Anyway, that's why I decided to write you now. Not because I watched that TikTok of you and your new girlfriend whipping and nae naeing in perfect rhythm, and certainly not because of your Snapchat story about reopening the cockles of your heart after all this time. After all, I've moved on and so should you.
But I suppose you can call me if you really want to. Just know I've got my hands full with the love of my life Lorenzo, so the chances of my responding are about as anemic as your new girlfriend. And what kind of name is Brittanee anyway? Whatever.
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