Open Letter to the Current Kennette

I'm very happy with the comfort level that has quietly developed between the two of us. The fact that I'll even entertain the notion of sporting my "big man" footie pajamas in your presence speaks volumes to the way I truly feel about you.

That said, why in the name of god you felt I needed to know anything about the consistency of your last boyfriend's semen is light, light years beyond me.

I mean... why? What would give you even the slightest idea that this was information I needed to have uttered within 30 feet of me? Was I pining for this sort of detail? The answer, and I must be emphatic, is "no." Hell, there's a reason I don't wax rhapsodic about the taste of Kennette #261-D's ass. It's because I know you don't want to hear it. In the future, I invite you to whack me in the jimmy with a garden spade before sharing such references, just to complete the job.

And if you find me even slightly "turned off" at any point over the next couple days, it's because I'm still haunted by the mental image of "Froot Loops in Jell-O."