Dear Fred,

I'm sure by now you have realized I'm gone. It's not that I didn't love you. I did. We had some really great times in the early days. Do you remember the night we spent at the Bedrock Library? Remember they had to throw out all those books?

I loved you so deeply, Fred, but I couldn't wait for you anymore. I couldn't wait for you to come home from work every night in your car that you propel with your own feet. I've always thought it would make more sense for you to just walk instead of pulling an entire car with your own strength. But that's beside the point. I think these last few years you've spent more time with Mr. Slate than me. I know rock and gravel are important but isn't your wife also? Gravel can't bear your children and tell you when Jeopardy is on, can it?

Please, Fred, don't blame Dino for this. Neither of us meant for this to happen. I know you think I'm cowardly for waiting to confess to you in a letter…but you know how long it takes to pound a letter into stone. Come to think of it, I really am going to a hell of a lot of trouble not to talk to you. I just think it would be awkward—at least that's what Dino thinks, and I agree with him. Please, Fred, don't hate us. We had so many good years. And we have a beautiful daughter together. I put Pebbles in the oven so she wouldn't crawl away when Dino and I left—DON'T TURN ON THE OVEN.

Anyway, that's all I have to say.

I'm so sorry.


P.S. I just found out Betty is having an affair with the guy who brings them their Wholly Mammoth Juice, so I'm not the only whore.