I'm sorry you needed to spice up your sad suburban life by endlessly sexting the redneck guy who'd just successfully transitioned out of 20 years in a blue-collar trade.
"I love you," you told me, after about six weeks. "And I want your baby."
And like the honest blue-collar dipshit I am, I took your words at face value. My heart swelled near to bursting, and I thought you were about as easy on the eyes as any woman I've ever seen. I took a deep breath, told you I loved you too, and spoke to a divorce lawyer.
Well, apparently you got the attention you wanted. And within a week of my reciprocating your love, you ended all communication with no explanation. And now office-life is just a series of your pedantic scowls (which make you look like Sarah Huckabee Sanders, BTW) and the occasional rumor of the shit you talk about me.
I'd apologize for my working class ways making your privileged pussy wet, but we both know your life is going to be every bit as lonely as it is right now, and it's just a matter of time until some other sucker falls for those warm, shallow eyes.
Next time you decide to fuck with a married guy's emotions, choose one from your own income bracket!