On our date
next week
which you will accept tomorrow
we will go to Amsterdan’s
a brunch place you’ll read about in the Sunday Times.
We won’t be able to get brunch reservations
– because the Times article was a pretty big deal –
but they’ll serve us at 10.30,
right before closing
which is pretty inconvenient
for your work schedule
since you were told to arrive at the crack of dawn
if you “want that promotion.”

You do want that promotion.
You don’t get it
and I won’t get what happened
when I call you for Round Two
the following Wednesday.
In fact
you won’t pick up the phone
the first three times I call
or the next twenty two.
It’ll be a bummer for me
but you’ll move on to more important things
until a month later
when you see the Times feature
about my postal incident
at
of all places
– get this – Amsterdan’s.

You’ll find it charming
because, as it turns out,
you’re something of a freak
so you’ll start writing to me
and volunteering for causes supporting my release
and trying to arrange regular conjugal visits.

I may rebuff your advances at this point
which only heightens your ardor
because of the aforementioned freakishness
and sets you planning a prison break-in
to either A) free me from my unjust imprisonment
or B) finally have a chance to get with me.

When it comes to that
and you enter my cell
and try to get me to enter you
and eventually
I do
and promptly fall asleep afterwards
do not
under any circumstances
try to wake me up to snuggle.

It’s important.
I can’t explain exactly why
but it is.