Dear Inner Saucy Wench,
You are indeed a complete tart. You ogle young men with tight buns, you fantasize about ravishing co-workers, you imagine wearing a black leather catsuit (& looking hot in it) to that S&M bar downtown wearing a collar.
You are entirely untrustworthy, infecting my brain with evil desires, waylaying my plans to achieve sainthood by 40. You call my purity and devotion into question with your high heel wearing tight skirt fantasies and lustful glances at the blonde who serves your morning latte.
Sometimes I wonder why you’re even here. What purpose do you serve other than to make my life seem safe, static, and dull? Why do you exist at all when all my comrades seem happy enough within the realms of monogamous passion and devotion.
If I knew the answers to those questions, I wouldn’t be writing this missive…
Perhaps you and I will become friends some day.
For now, I wish you’d just go away…