Dear Wife,
I’m writing you this letter to tell you that I’m leaving you for good. I’ve been a good man to you in our 7 years of marriage & I have nothing to show for it.
These last 2 weeks have been tough for me. Your boss notified me that you quit your job today & that was just too much to bear any longer.
Last week, you came home & didn’t even notice I had a new haircut, had cooked your favorite meal & even wore a brand new pair of silk boxers.
You ate in 2 minutes, & went straight to sleep after watching all of your soaps. You don’t tell me you love me anymore; you don’t want sex or anything that connects us as husband & wife.
Either you’re cheating on me or you don’t love me anymore; whatever the case, It’s over and I am leaving.
Your EX-Husband
P.S. don’t try to find me. Your SISTER & I are moving away to West Virginia together! Have a great life!
Dear Ex-Husband,
Believe me, nothing has made my day more than receiving your letter. It’s definitely true that you & I have been married for the past 7 years, although a good man is a far cry from what you’ve been.
I watch my TV shows so much because they drown out your constant whining & griping, although that doesn’t seem to work.
I definitely noticed your haircut last week, but the 1st thing that came to mind was ‘You look just like a girl!’ And since my mother raised me not to say anything if you can’t say something nice, I decided not to comment.
And when you cooked my favorite meal, you must have gotten me confused with MY SISTER, because I stopped eating pork 7 long years ago.
About those new silk boxers: I turned away from you because the $49.99 price tag was still on them, & I prayed it was a coincidence that my sister had just borrowed $50 from me that morning.
After all of this, I still loved you & felt we could make this work. So when I hit the lotto for 10 million dollars, I quit my job & bought us 2 tickets to Jamaica. But when I got home you were gone.
Everything happens for a reason, I guess. I hope you have the fulfilling life you always wanted. My lawyer said that the letter you wrote ensures you won’t get a dime from me. So take care.
Signed, Your Ex-Wife, Rich As Hell & Free!
P.S. I don’t know if I ever told you this, but my sister Carla was born Carl. I hope that’s not a problem!
Please share this story with your friends and family if you think it was funny.
Man in Walmart Demanded That I Give up My Wheelchair for His Tired Wife – Karma Got Him before I Could
I never expected a trip to Walmart to turn into a showdown over my wheelchair, with a stranger demanding I give it up for his tired wife. As the situation spiraled and a crowd gathered, I realized this ordinary shopping day was taking an extraordinary turn.
I was cruising down the aisles in my wheelchair, feeling pretty good after scoring some deals, when a guy—let’s call him Mr. Entitled—blocked my path.
“Hey, you,” he barked, “My wife needs to sit down. Give her your wheelchair.”
I blinked, thinking it was a joke. “Uh, sorry, what?”
“You heard me,” he snapped, gesturing to his wife. “She’s been on her feet all day. You’re young, you can walk.”
I tried to keep my cool. “I actually can’t walk. That’s why I have the chair.”
Mr. Entitled’s face turned red. “Don’t lie to me! Now get up and let my wife sit down!”
My jaw dropped. I glanced at his wife, who looked mortified.
“Look, sir,” I said, patience wearing thin, “I need this chair to get around. There are benches near the front of the store.”
But he wasn’t having it. He stepped closer, looming over me. “Listen here, you little —”
“Is there a problem here?”
I’ve never been so relieved to hear a Walmart employee’s voice. A guy named Miguel appeared, looking concerned.
Mr. Entitled whirled on Miguel. “Yes! This girl won’t give up her wheelchair for my tired wife. Make her get out of it!”
Miguel’s eyebrows shot up. “Sir, we can’t ask customers to give up mobility aids. That’s not appropriate.”
Mr. Entitled sputtered. “What’s not appropriate is this faker taking up a chair when my wife needs it!”
People were starting to stare. Miguel tried to calm things down, speaking in a low tone. “Sir, please lower your voice. We have benches available. I can show you where they are.”
But Mr. Entitled was on a roll. He jabbed a finger at Miguel’s chest. “Don’t tell me to lower my voice! I want to speak to your manager right now!”
As he ranted, he stepped back—right into a display of canned vegetables. He stumbled, arms windmilling, and went down hard.
CRASH!
Cans went flying everywhere. Mr. Entitled lay sprawled on the floor, surrounded by dented tins of green beans and corn. For a moment, everything was silent.
His wife rushed forward. “Frank! Are you okay?”
Frank tried to get up, but slipped on a rolling can and went down again with another crash.
I couldn’t hold back a laugh. Miguel shot me a look, fighting a smile too.
“Sir, please don’t move,” Miguel said, reaching for his walkie-talkie. “I’m calling for assistance.”
Frank ignored him, struggling to his feet again. “This is ridiculous! I’ll sue this whole store!”
By now, a small crowd had gathered. A security guard and a manager appeared, taking in the scene—Frank standing unsteadily, cans everywhere, Miguel trying to keep things calm.
“What’s going on here?” the manager asked.
Frank opened his mouth to rant again, but his wife cut him off. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “We were just leaving. Come on, Frank.”
She grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the exit. As they passed me, she paused. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Then they were gone, leaving a mess of cans and confused onlookers in their wake.
The manager turned to me. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry for the disturbance. Are you alright?”
I nodded, finding my voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… wow. That was something else.”
He apologized again and started organizing the cleanup. People began to disperse, but a few helped pick up cans.
An older woman approached me, patting my arm. “You handled that so well, dear. Some people just don’t think before they speak.”
I smiled. “Thanks. I’m just glad it’s over.”
As the commotion died down, I decided to finish my shopping. No way was I letting Frank ruin my entire trip. I rolled down the next aisle, trying to shake off the residual tension.
“Hey,” a voice called out. I turned to see Miguel jogging up to me. “I just wanted to check if you’re really okay. That guy was way out of line.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thanks for stepping in. Does this kind of thing happen often?”
Miguel shook his head. “Not like that, no. But you’d be surprised how entitled some people can be. It’s like they forget basic human decency when they walk through the doors.”
We chatted for a bit as I continued shopping. Miguel shared some of his own customer service horror stories, which honestly made me feel a bit better. At least I wasn’t alone in dealing with difficult people.
As I left the store, I couldn’t help but shake my head at the whole experience. What a day. But you know what? For every Frank out there, there are way more decent folks—like Miguel, that nice older lady, and curious kids.
I headed home, my faith in humanity a little battered but still intact. And hey, at least I had a wild story to tell. Plus, I got some free cereal out of the deal. Silver linings, right?
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