You took it harder than I expected when I told you I would no longer be selling you my dirty panties. You asked why I “left” you. Honey, because I could. I’d been waiting for my divorce settlement, and I was, let’s say, not at the top of my game when I answered your ad offering cash for worn panties. This was not, as you perceived, a romantic match made in heaven. My life sucked. I was broke, addicted, and desperate, and I had nothing left to hock. So I answered your ad. We met at a park. You pulled up and rolled down your window. Our eyes met as I handed you my panties in a bag. You smiled, and I said, “Where’s my money?” You handed me 50 bucks and drove off. This became our weekly or bi-weekly ritual for a year. But my alimony just put me high enough on the food chain to afford the luxury of not having to rely on your generosity. So buh bye.—Anonymous
End of an Era
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