“My love for you has no strings attached. I love you for free.”

my plan is to jog in a zip code where the average house is $1 million dollars. i jog everyday. i run into the trophy wives jogging club. we jog past each other so often, they’re forced to interact with me. we’re friends now. i’m invited places. i meet other millionaires, men who love me. i marry the richest, using an alias. throughout the first year of marriage, i’m moving assets and cash to an off shore bank account. i fake my own death on our anniversary. he’s heartbroken.

me replying to messages 10 days late and blaming it on my busy schedule to hide the fact that my depression has me thinking simple correspondence is an actual workload: