I don’t get enough good email. Don’t get me wrong, I send and receive literally hundreds of emails each weekday. Most of these emails are between Spoober, Jen, and I and are all pretty much just the same chatty topics that we have when we are together. Those are not bad emails, just regular emails. Occasionally one of us will offer up a gem, a haiku, a bit of gossip, a graphic description of their bathroom experience. I appreciate those, but I want something more.
I want sordid ugly confessions of childhood transgressions. I want secret sex fantasies revealed to me in confidence. I want hushed gossip about people I don’t know. I want to know what other people had for lunch.
Tell me where your fingers have been. Tell me where your fingers wished they were. Tell me about that time you snuck out and drank vodka at the park with your friends and vomited on the slide and feigned menstrual cramps the next morning to stay out of school.
Reveal to me what you want to do to your girlfriend on your next date. Reveal what you can’t do on your date. Reveal your food allergies to me.