Thank You for the Awful Weekend

Dear Jane,

Thank you for the awful fucking weekend

It was wonderful

I had no idea that a simple getaway

To a secluded lake house

Could be the equivalent of getting your crotch waxed

With used band-aids

Gosh, I don’t even know where to begin

The trip was just filled with travesty after travesty

It was like World War II

But without the romance and the singing sailors

Your dog pissing on my luggage as soon as I arrived

Was probably an omen I should have paid more attention to

But I just kept barreling along

Because I so desperately needed a vacation

And because you assured me

This weekend at your aunt’s lake house would be

Quote—‘Just the ticket’

I wish you had told me that it would be a ticket

To a snuff film

But then again, I never asked

So maybe I’m partly to blame

I suppose I also should have asked if anyone would be joining us

Like your brother Carl, the flasher

Or Carl’s wife, Lucinda, the aggressive bisexual

Of course, neither of them was as lovely as your cousin, Richard

The one who owns the escort service in Los Angeles?

He spent the entire weekend

Trying to sell me on the idea

That I should be selling myself

While I—and these are his words—

‘Still have a few good years left’

I tried as hard as I could to be flattered by the whole thing

But then he saw me in a bathing suit

And lowered the price significantly

Which made it rather difficult

Aside from the guests

There was the food

I don’t know what your husband puts

In his teriyaki chicken

But I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s

Minced garlic with a dash of e coli

Or maybe I swallowed some water

Swimming in what you neglected to inform me

Was a polluted lake

I saw something float by me

That looked like a plate

Of day-old curry

And the bugs—Oh the bugs!

Of course, you can’t help the bugs, Jane

But you could have warned me

About the raccoon in the shower

He was very friendly

But that’s not the point

It was the most mortifying forty-eight hours of my life

Although it did help me get my mind off Jerome

In a way that I doubt a quiet, peaceful weekend would have

So thank you for that

I’m still going to send you the dry-cleaning bill

For the dog urine-stained luggage

And the hospital bill

For that hornet’s nest under your porch

Exploded as I walked by it

And for the make-up I had to buy

To cover up the fact that my skin is an eerie shade of green now

For some reason

But other than that, I really have to say

Thank you, Jane

Thank you so much

I thought Jerome leaving was the worst thing

That could ever happen to me

God was I wrong