Gerald, we need to talk. None of this is going to be easy for you to hear, but the simple fact is that you’ve changed. I’ve tried ignoring that feeling, to grin and bear it like a good wife would, but I just can’t pretend any longer: You’re not the man I married. You’re significantly more attractive and loving. You’re considerate, you’re responsible, and you’ve allowed your body to become really chiseled. In a word, you’re the total package.
To be honest, I don’t even recognize you anymore.
This isn’t what I signed up for. It’s been a long time since we stood at the altar and you scratched your nose and mumbled your vows while barely looking me in the eye. Back then, I thought I would be spending the rest of my life with the apathetic, incompetent man in front of me. I’ll never forget how leaden and bored you looked during our first dance and how, 45 seconds into the song, you bent down and whispered into my ear: “Was that good enough? Can I sit down now?” For years, all my friends and family members talked about was how off-putting you were.
These days, it’s like looking at a completely different person. You’re confident. You’re supportive. You know when to tuck in or not tuck in your shirt, and you ask me questions about my day. The other night, I walked through the front door and you surprised me with a shoulder rub and a pan-seared salmon dinner. I thought to myself: Who the hell is this man, and what has he done with my husband?
Is any of this getting through to you? Jesus, people respect you, Gerald. That’s not something I ever thought I’d have to say about my own husband. We need to face facts. You just aren’t who you once were. You’re now a caring partner, a healthy role model to our children, and an all-around interesting guy who cultivates several unique hobbies.
While I don’t want to be shallow, you’ve changed a lot physically, too. I’m not saying I expect you to look the same way you did at 22, but you’ve put on a lot of muscle. It’s like you can’t go a day without exercise. It may sound crazy, but I swear that your face has gotten more symmetrical lately.
Sometimes I look over at night and feel as if there’s a well-toned, courteous stranger in my bed.
Where is the man I fell in love with all those years ago? The man who breathed only through his mouth? The man who was covered head-to-toe in stains regardless of the last time he ate? The man who sent me into anaphylactic shock three times because he kept forgetting that his favorite snack, Reese’s Miniature Cups, had peanuts in them? That version of you—the ugly, bumbling idiot I was head over heels for—is completely gone.
Gerald, I am simply no longer in love with this improved version of you. That’s why I’m packing my bags and leaving tonight. Please don’t beg me to stay. I may not be perfect, but I do know my worth.
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