An Admission of Infidelity
I feel pretty terrible and mixed-up right now. I feel sad yet I feel strangely happy. I want to cry but then I happen upon something new and wonderful and I can't help but laugh. I'm sure many of you will think "aha, mental illness, I knew it was coming" but the truth is that I'm in love. I haven't been in love like this for a very long time and the last time it happened I felt very strange and conflicted: I fell in love with a foreigner from Norway but our cultures clashed. You know how White People From The North always feel superior and stuff? It was like that with us too.
I stayed in that relationship for a little over four years. Okay, to be honest, I'm still in that relationship but I'm cheating, and I'm cheating a lot: we spend an hour or so together, upstairs, before I go to sleep, but the rest of my day...Well, the rest of my day I'm spending with my new, foxy paramour. He looks exactly like my Norwegian paramour except he's American (of mixed race), he's cosmopolitan, he's popular, he's well-traveled--he's practically global one could say--and he charmed me enough to want a divorce from the Norwegian.
There's a reason that all this happened, of course, and it's the fault of some woman from Arkansas, named Lady Red (I will not disclose her personal information in public, but it is available to the court in case the Norwegian wants alimony and sues me.) The American and I met because I called him one day to help me clean some Hebrew graffiti that my useless Norwegian had been promising to clean up for ever and never did. The graffiti was on the walls of Lady Red's garage (it was nice graffiti, something like "I kick your butt!", but in Hebrew) and she offered to clean it herself but really, it was man's work and she's too delicate for such things. So anyway, that's how the American and I met. And that's how the love affair began.
First he cleaned the graffiti, in like, immediately and without making a fuss. He's very polite, he doesn't speak down to me and best of all, he doesn't have a thick Norwegian accent. Don't get me wrong, I find Norwegian accents sexy and attractive but they are hard to understand and sometimes, after a drink or two, both our accents got so difficult to understand that we would both cry. But no more crying over thick accents because the American doesn't have an accent although he's very popular in Europe and spends a lot of his time there and says cute things like "courgette" instead of "zucchini". Isn't that adorable? Not to mention that he opens doors and shoos away all pests and annoyances so I can just smell the rose petals that little Indian slave children spread on the floor for me as I walk by. I wake up every morning happy and excited that we'll spend the day together but I still feel a little guilty thinking of the Norwegian. But not too guilty because I've made my decision: I'm staying with the American.
The only question now is how to tell Bloggie. I've been thinking about this a lot the last few days, I don't want to hurt Bloggie's feelings and betray its innocent child's trust. Bloggies are very tender at this age and it's highly possible that it will think I've gone over to the dark side and it will be upset and unhappy. But really, what else can I do but be honest? So, Bloggie, here's the news:
Opera is not your daddy anymore. Firefox is your new daddy!
P.S. I've already scheduled an appointment for Bloggie with the Ferkakta Therapist Group, we'll be attending the "Mommy, Why Do I Have So Many Daddies?" group session next Thursday. Wish us luck.
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