A Brett Favre Breakup Letter, Part 6

Dear Brett,

Enough already, I don't need a text message every time you floss your teeth. I know dental health is an important matter to you. I also don't need you to leave away messages on AIM that read: "beginning to rinse my mouth with Scope," "rinsing my mouth with Scope," "finished rinsing my mouth with Scope," and "spitting the Scope I rinsed my mouth with into the sink now." I mean, isn't that all one away message?

I also don't need text messages telling me what you're thinking of wearing every morning. Don't you have a wife? The letter you wrote me about tying your shoes was a bit of overkill too. Although, I did appreciate the tip about sobering up the rabbit on its way from Atlanta to Wisconsin as it rounds the oak tree and sails a boat along Lake Michigan. My shoes never come untied now.

Please, refrain from emailing me pics of how you look in every uniform other than Green Bay's because you really love playing GM on Madden. By the way, you look horrible in green and white. The New Orleans helmet looked alright, and there's no way New England trades Maroney for you and let's you play running back.

Another thing I feel I need to tell you is that one's status on Facebook should not be used for trivial, short-lived moments in one's day. "Making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich" is not an activity that is worthy of Facebook status. Are you aware of how many people eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Millions of people eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. In fact, there's a Facebook group about it called "Crust or No Crust." I'll warn you, though, most of their members are needy preschoolers, who still need their actions and personalities affirmed by their parents, but you probably know this seeing as you founded the group dedicated to all things lunchtime.

Brett, I really can't deal with all these aspects of your life. Can't you find someone else to validate you? Maybe someone in Manhatten or St. Paul perhaps. I just can't do it anymore. I have my own life to lead, my own sandwiches to eat, and my own teeth to floss. I can't worry about yours. I'm worn out, and if this goes on much longer, I don't even know if we can be friends. I'm not a psychologist. I don't have time for neuroticisms.

Love,
a Packers fan

PS I just got your text about your twenty million dollar allowance and that's great. What chores are you having to do? Are you washing the dishes? Walking the dog? Taking out the garbage? Cleaning your room?