"My darling husband, please seek help for your obesity, I feel like I'm headed to be the latest widow in Wallkill.
I watched you eating your 4th dessert after your third entree tonight and you were sweating profusely and choking as you couldn't chew fast enough and I was so concerned.
What troubles you so much you have to eat your life and our marriage away?
The burping and farting after these huge meals and the all night runs to the toilet have made us sleep in separate bedrooms for sometime.
We have had no sex like in over a decade, I peaked in your bedroom and was watching you attempt to masturbate as you tried to find your buried penis amongst all that fat and you just gave up...I cried for you.
That rash on your ass, that awful jock itch stop scratching it, and go see the doctor. Obviously you're struggling to wipe up thoroughly and too tired to bathe daily.
The other day I couldn't find the farm goat and the first thought through my head is you ate it, thank god she turned up alive, I'm sorry but my fears are REAL!
The looks I get at the supermarket, cleaning out half the bakery for you, is total disgust from our neigbors.
If you don't go to a FAT FARM and lose weight and get well, we're heading for divorce which is 2-1 against you just eat yourself to death (1/5).
In a month it's your birthday are you even going to make it to then...
Where is the chubby man I fell in love with 500 pounds ago?"
- Kelly
