Greetings, [BOO / BABE / TWIN FLAME]
I hope this note finds you [WELL / CRUSHING IT ON EXCEL/ DEMOLISHING A FIFTH GRADER AT FIFA].
I’m writing to inform you that I, your hot and supportive [SO / TOXIC MUSE / UNDEFINED LOVE INTEREST] will not be attending the premiere of Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer with you this week.
I understand that you [MINORED IN FILM AT UCONN 11 YEARS AGO/ HAD AN INCEPTION POSTER IN YOUR CHILDHOOD BEDROOM / ARE PASSIONATE ABOUT THINGS THAT GO BOOM] and for that reason, you believe you have a unique, one-of-a-kind appreciation for films of this nature that you wish to share with me.
While your unbridled fanboy spirit is admirable, it does not align with my vision for the evening, nor should I be subjected to your [TOTALLY ORIGINAL INSIGHTS ABOUT CHRIS’ OEUVRE / CRUSH ON EMILY BLUNT].
Instead, I could optimize those three hours for [LEARNING TO POACH AN EGG / FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO THE SECOND AVATAR MOVIE / TRAINING MYSELF TO WRITE WITH MY TOES IN CASE I’M EVER KIDNAPPED].
I know that this is not the news you were hoping to hear. If you need to take a moment to [BREATHE / SHED A SINGLE TEAR / MAKE THE FACE FROM THE JAMES VAN DER BEEK MEME], I recommend you do so now.
Within the hour, a representative from our Human Resources team, Cooper the labradoodle, will put time on your calendar to address any questions you may have.
Please understand, this is not a reflection of your performance as a partner, but merely a strategic reallocation of emotional labor.
I hope we can move forward in peace and harmony and I wish you the best in your brave, solo filmgoing endeavors.
P.S. Still on for Barbie at 8 tonight? See you there xx.