Dear Ms. iPad,

You trollop!  You tramp!  You gold digger!

You shallow hussy!

I had the promise of a real, meaningful, and lasting relationship and you tore it away from me.  You are a cold, merciless, unrepentant whore.  I hate you.

The JuiceBar was mine!  He loved me.  He adored me.  He couldn’t keep his hands off me.  He would cradle me like a baby and snuggle up close to me everywhere from the bedroom to the board room (Yes!  He had me in his office!).  He even bought me svelte, belting leather clothes that accentuated my lines and kept me warm on those long flights and lonely nights.

The JuiceBar used to show me off.  I remember how he almost cried when he thought that a forgetful moment almost lost our relationship.  Now I’m the one doing the crying.

I sit here and watch his eyes light up when you light up.  You and your edge to edge touch screen.  Your backlit glow.  I see his hands reach out for you and softly caress that cold, cold metal back of yours.

Then there’s the worst.  There’s that constant stroking.  Watching his fingertips continually stoke and tap and stroke and tap and stroke and tap.  His fingers never stop.  He has his hands all over you all the time … even in public!  It makes me want to vomit.

I am what he really needs.  With me we read, we learn, we think.  We enjoy the simple things.  Yes it may be spartan to you but it is what true love and true living is all about.

But with you it is all just fun and games.  And with those disgusting hyperlinks you let him explore sights and places that are wasteful, wonton, some even trashy.  No, for you it is all fun and games, excitement and finding the next thing that will make him go “ooooh.”  You are nothing but the ephemeral fleeting pleasure of the moment.

I hope he drops you and that glassy painted face of yours breaks into a thousand pieces.  Better yet, I hope some future strumpette steals his heart and makes you hurt as much as you hurt me.

You’ll get yours.  I promise.

Jerry’s Kindle