The American Express Mistress

An Arrangement—Allegedly

Dear Mrs. Agony Column. This Is Satire. Allegedly. 

By Agatha Agony Article V              A Satire on Marriage and Dating

I would like to assure my reader that we are not FOYL’íng (an obscure British spelling: kindly do not trouble the dictionary) anyone’s attempt at anonymity by printing this letter. Nor are we suggesting it is wrong for a woman to have her nails done and her rent paid by a man. Who am I to judge a little quid pro quo from a ride or die. You see I went to great lengths to conceal their identity. *Full disclosure: Clearly writing is my thing, not Canva. 

I am, however, saying that a $100,000 American Express bill is not just a little Greece’y for a sugar daddy, it is a full-blown presidential-pardon-me-madame.

*Don’t Forget to Read Diplomatically Unavailable’s Reply👇🏻 below 👇🏻

Warmly

Agatha Agony

The Agony Column @ The Oxford Review

As always, if you are a disgruntled wife, long-suffering husband or single and making regrettable romantic decisions, and you would like to write a satirical letter, please DM us on Instagram @theoxfordreview (the one with the blue check) or email us at info@theoxfordreview.com. Full disclosure, email responses are scandalously delayed.

Dear Mrs Agony,

 Help! A gentleman recently shared with me how refreshing it was to have found a woman who understood his desire for an arrangement.

He mentioned that he was principally interested in access. 

I explained that access was something I strictly reserved for only a very small number of people.

He said that was precisely why he had approached me.

You can imagine how encouraging this was! He then explained that he wanted access to people who were otherwise unavailable to him. I told him that, until quite recently, I had been engaged. Engaged! 

He said that wasn’t quite what he meant. By then, I was beginning to wonder whether even he knew what he meant. When I asked him to pay my credit card bill, I believed I was making myself vulnerable. A woman does not send just anybodyher American Express payment instructions. There are numbers on there. Personal numbers. (One of them was a hundred thousand.)

I had an important hearing coming up. I wanted to look nice. For him, of course, and for the paparazzi. Looking back, there were signs that we may just possibly have understood the relationship differently. 

He kept saying he wanted a connection. I told him I did as well. He wanted discretion. Finally, I thought, a gentleman! He wanted to know where things were going. I said Greece.

Then to my dismay he started bringing up Pam.

At first, I tried to be mature about all of this. We are, after all, adults. We both know other people. I was previously engaged to be married (did I mention that?). But eventually, a woman is entitled to ask why every conversation ultimately becomes a conversation about another woman’s availability. What on earth was he suggesting that we try? Here are the text messages.  

He said he had prepared a memorandum for her. For her! I had never received a memorandum. Not even a little sticky note saying he’d enjoyed our conversation. But Pam got a memorandum!

Apparently, there was even an attachment.

I asked how long that had been going on.

He became impatient. He said I wasn’t performing.

Mrs Agony, you cannot tell a woman she isn’t making an effort simply because none of that effort has, as of yet, resulted in a telephone call from the Department of Justice.

I think what really bothered me the most was that he seemed unable to relax with me and enjoy the moment. A text had to lead to an introduction… an introduction had to lead to a meeting… A meeting had to lead to an extradition and a public chat with Tucker.

Why, oh why, could we not simply have a beautiful, mature, and private understanding in which he paid my American Express bill?

He later said he wanted to discuss his tax situation.

I listened: I believe intimacy means making space even for the unglamorous parts of a person’s life. But after a while I began to suspect that he didn’t want reassurance. He wanted a call from the commissioner of the Internal Revenue Service.

First Pam. Now this.

“How many people,” I implored, “do you need in this relationship?”

I could have accepted that he wasn’t ready to support a woman financially; some men just aren’t mature enough for that. But to then go public with the accusation that he had expected me to accomplish something—and that I had failed? That was a betrayal I had never prepared for.

 Sincerely resigned,

Diplomatically Unavailable