Dear Katie White,

Katie...

I'm not sure how to say this. I mean, you've been my imaginary blonde British rock and roll girlfriend for months now. You with your modest yet funky bohemian wardrobe, that poor man's "Kristen Bell" thing you've got going on and all those crazy, awkward dance moves. How could I not have been drawn to you? Seriously. I was a goner from word go.

I've... I've been thinking a lot lately about all the time we've spent together; the long days at work, the drives down to Richfield, the hours you 've sat with me in my living room as I tried teaching myself how to bang out the first few bars of "Great DJ" on my cruddy Squire... I will cherish all of this more than you will ever know.

That's why it kills me to say this. You remember Ritzy? Ritzy Bryan, that kid who used to sing for that quartet out of North Wales, Sidecar Kisses? Right! The blonde with the button nose. That's her. Well...

I'm just going to come out and say it. Rip the Band-Aid off all in one go, right?

Okay. She and I have been hanging out a lot, lately. She came around a few weeks ago, singing this song, "Cradle", and, man, I've been digging it. And she's smart and she's funny and she's got this cute little bob and this crazy Welsh accent and...

So, yeah. I know. I know I'm a jerkface. I'm a fickle, flighty jerkface who never deserved you as an imaginary blonde British rock and roll girlfriend. I never wanted to hurt you, but--

I think... well, we've talked it over and I think she's going to be my new imaginary blonde British rock and roll girlfriend. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.



P.S. Neko? My marriage to your voice... we're... we're totally still on for that, right?