Mon Cher St. Germain:
The past two nights have been amazing, but I am afraid it’s time for me to let you go. Don’t get me wrong. I have highly enjoyed the sweet taste of melon and green apples that rests on my lips after we kiss. And you are always so fun to be around. You make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Last night your latest incarnation – “Babs” (named after my mother, who conned the bartender at Cache Cache Bistro into making a St. Germain concoction that rivaled the Dew Drop of the other night) – had a hint of blueberry and was absolutely divine. One sip was all it took to know I could be with you forever.
But alas, my dear St. Germain, as much as you make me laugh, you also keep me up at night. Last night for the second night in a row I woke up at 3 a.m. wide-eyed, and could not get back to sleep. I thought about rising from my bed and penning you this letter while it was still dark outside, but St. Germain, you know I have two small children who I must be able to function for in the morning. So, I it pains me so to admit it, but I cheated on you. You left me no choice, don’t you understand? I had to reach for my bottle of Ambien and pop half a pill at 4 a.m. You fought back against the intruder, I could tell you didn’t want it to work, to erase all our memories together. Finally, at 5 p.m., in desperation I took another quarter of pill. At last, at last, I had quit you, my dear St. Germain.
I know what you are saying: that I am only trading one addication for another. But al least Ambien understands me, helps me get to sleep. With you, I just wake up dreaming of your fragrant scent and cold taste on my tongue.
Now, don’t act like that. Put those gold medals that you won at the San Francisco World Spirits Competition away. You know I don’t love you for your money or accolades. And you know how hard it’s going to be for me when I see you out tonight, probably on the lips of another woman. But I will be strong. For my own sanity. For my family’s.
It just won’t work out between us. I’m sorry. But we will always have Aspen.
(To understand my full relationship with St. Germain, read the previous post: “Do the Dew”)