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Breaking up with Adam Sandler

Posted: August 16, 2014 - 11:10pm

Adam Sandler, I’m sorry you’re finding out this way, truly I am, but I’m breaking up with you. We’re not right for each other.

I hope you understand. Someone else will find you and adore you and stalk you in a way that I no longer do. You deserve for that to happen.

Last spring, on my annual girls’ weekend away with college friends, when I chose you as my movie star boyfriend, my affection was sincere. The only reason I didn’t pick you to be my Hollywood husband is that I’m already married.

The girls and I agreed that one husband is a sufficient plenty, so we all opted for movie boyfriends. I called you as mine before anyone else could stake a claim. Everyone agreed that we’re perfect for each other, that we make a great couple.

They don’t know that our affair began long before March. We’ve flirted for years, me thinking fondly of you anytime the topic of turkey arose in conversation.

I’ve always had a thing for nerds and rock stars and you, Adam, are both in a single precious package. Though you’ve gotten a little chubby in your middle years, I still find you irresistible.

From the first time you strummed your guitar on Saturday Night Live and crooned those romantic lyrics – turkey for me, turkey for you – I have loved you. It was as if you were singing the Thanksgiving Song to me alone.

Our mutual embrace of the redheaded stepchild of holidays bonded us instantaneously. I love turkey was code for I love Lucy.

Though I am not Jewish, I tapped my foot and sang along to the Hanukah Song, too, in solidarity with you.

I empathized with your desire for a Hanukah carol to make the season merry and bright. I coveted Hanukah’s eight crazy nights.

And so I accepted you and your quirks without question.

Yet, unconditional love, it turns out, has caused the unraveling of our relationship.

I trusted you, Adam! When you said that Hanukah is fun-akah, you inspired me. I told my friend Veronica that we should celebrate Hanukah.

I hung on the rhyming of Hanukah with “yamaka.” I believed you when you intimated that the two words sound almost exactly alike.

But you misled me. Your faithfulness lapsed. And you callously let me discover the truth the hard way. In a recently published newspaper column, I wrote the sentence, “His helmet perched on his head like a yamaka.”

You never spoke up to stop me. You never said you took creative license with the pairing of Hanukah with Hebrew headwear. It’s because you’re jealous of my husband, I know, but all the same it was cruel.

You, my movie boyfriend, deceived me. You could have at least corrected me, Adam, before I received an e-mail from the publisher that read, “Lucy, I’m sorry to say that I didn’t catch this last week: yar•mul•ke, noun \ˈyär-mə(l)-kə\: a small round cap that is worn by some Jewish men.”

My heart sank. Betrayal is brutal. Public exposure of your thin loyalty on the pages of the newspaper cut me to the quick.

Oh, the humiliation I have suffered at your hand. You’re so shallow compared to my home husband, who is probably going to break your arm if he reads this.

This is it, Adam. We’re finished. When I get together with the girls again in March, I’m going to tell them you and I came to an impasse, that we lost that loving feeling.

There’s nothing you can say or sing to change my mind, not even, “Turkey, turkey, turkey.”

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