Dear Jesse’s Mom,
Your son Jesse does an excellent job of finding those things that his roommates are proud of, and then destroying them… thus dashing our hopes and dreams. Not two weeks ago your son asked me about my minesweeper scores. I proudly talked Minesweeper and I know he saw the glimmer in my eye. A glimmer of passion. A glimmer of joy.
Little did any of us know, he was training to extinguish that glimmer. Yes, last night at 12:02am, Jesse beat my proudest minesweeping moment.
There’s a little part of me that wants to tell your son “Great job Jesse! What an awesome score!” but that little part of me is far overshadowed by the saddness and hatred for his superiority at meaningless accomplishments. Sure, it might just be a minesweeping record for now, but who’s to say that he won’t beat my counter jumping score next? Then perhaps he’ll top my highest climbing grade? Is anything safe from his heart-crushing ways?
Jesse’s mom? Your son took a little part of me last night. He took it. He put it on the ground. And he jumped on it while wearing cleats of eternal hurt. So if I happen to spill hot boiling water all over his face tonight, please know that he probably deserved it.