If you’re reading this…I’m probably dead.
I say probably because really, there’s no way to know for sure. But for all intents and purposes, you should consider me dead.
See, the world is a pretty dangerous place these days: Car accidents, boat accidents, bear accidents. Online cat fishing schemes, inland hurricanes. Suburban quicksand! It’s only a matter of time and statistics until I, your beloved girlfriend, shuffle off this mortal coil.
This is why, just to be safe, I’ve been thinking we should probably break up.
Hear me out! They say relationships end in break-ups or death, and I wouldn’t want you to find out that I’ve died- so let’s just get out ahead of this thing!
We’re in a Schrodinger’s cat scenario. Remember Schrodinger, the guy who theoretically put a cat in a box with poison, and said until the box was opened, the cat is both alive and dead? (No, he doesn’t also play piano in the Peanuts gang. That’s Schroder. An entirely different kind of genius.)
My point is, Evan, that I’m the cat in this scenario, and we have to break up because if you come to my house, or text me one of those annoying YouTube unboxing videos you love so much, you might find out I’ve perished terribly from a tragic, sudden demise. I know finding out I’ve died would be a pretty sucky experience. I don’t want you to have to go through that. This is why it’s so much easier for us both if you don’t contact me, or visit me, ever again.
Why, just yesterday, I discovered I was allergic to Brazil nuts. I’m twenty-four years old and I never knew! What if I’d accidentally eaten one and swelled up like a balloon? Pop, and no more girlfriend, that’s what, Evan. It would be terrible for you to have to help pick up all those popped-balloon fragments of me out of the grass. (I mean, even grief is no excuse for littering). And don’t even get me started on the amount of death-trap carnival rides I chose willingly to ride at the fair the other day. I’m a funeral waiting to happen.
Honestly, I’m thinking of you when I say: We’re breaking up and you should delete my contact information and forget where I live.
But anyway, enough about me. How’s the family vacation to Hawaii? Hope you’re enjoying a piña colada by the beach! Speaking of beaches, it’s crazy how a trip to the beach right here in New Jersey could be the end of me. Some sharks prefer to live in cold Atlantic waters, you know. Not to mention, tsunamis can happen anywhere. And did you know it only takes five mouthfuls of beach sand for a human woman to choke?
Realistically speaking, I suppose my death is far more likely to be caused by e.coli from that romaine contamination a few weeks ago. You saw that on the news, right? It’s totally possible I somehow got contaminated and keeled over right after you left for the airport. I probably died in a drastic, and yet somehow incredibly sexy, bought of intense food poisoning, right there in the terminal. Or maybe not, and I’m totally fine. Again, there’s no way to really know. I’m just a cat in a box!
Now, I know what you may be thinking at this point. What about the expensive noise cancelling Bose headphones Laura borrowed from me? I totally get how you’d want them back. But is a nice pair of headphones really worth being faced with my untimely (potential) demise? Would you really want to break out of a cocoon of denial just for a cushioned pair of high-end noise cancelling headphones? Really Evan, I may have just died. Let’s not make this about you, please.
Anyway, I know mailing a letter via USPS to your hotel in Hawaii while you’re in the middle of a family vacation isn’t the ideal way to end a year long relationship. I know this almost makes me seem cowardly, as if I couldn’t face dumping you in person or even over the phone. However, please consider that this Schrodinger’s cat theory is a two-way street. For all I know, you’ve touched a poisonous puffer fish in the bay, or fallen into a volcano, or been abducted by aliens. Take your pick. I’d rather not know!
P.S. People might say I’m “ghosting” you. That’s ridiculous! But seriously, please do consider me dead.