That’s not me.

I asked for a shirt.

I ached for the scent of your skin.

To smell you. Perhaps that would translate into a “Ghost” movie experience.

Here comes “Unchained Melody” by The Righteous Brothers.

This was going to be my moment: to cry, to smell your hypnotic scent.

Wait. You did not wear women’s perfume.

I certainly have never worn three-dollar streetwalker special, on sale for one at Dollar General.

I love streetwalkers. I love them, especially when they

find respite from the streets in my car for 15 minutes.

I would pay extra for the scent I smell on your worn shirt. Only if I paid in the first place.

Again, another blindside.

I must stop reading tips on the internet about “healthy ways you can grieve your spouse.”

So far, the five-star advice doesn’t work in my dysfunctional relationship.

These experts are causing far more harm than good.

That’s enough from my bitter, sad self tonight.

Oh yeah, her name is Tabitha.

So far, I hate her too.

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