This letter to the editor, written as a farewell of love gone cold, was fun even before the pun at the very end.
France, my love, though I have missed you, I have not missed you much. Your language once lightened my spirit, but now, laden with vitriol, it is burdensome and saps my joie de vivre. Your behavior, once coquettish in its charms, now seems only venal, self-serving and, well, provincial. The occasion of a rendezvous, or as you suggested, a "high level" meeting, would have one day aroused my anticipation, but now, after so many false promises and such unfaithfulness, enlists only ennui in doing that which we have done so dispassionately so many times before. Though it is true we must remain together for the sake of those who rely upon us, I feel I must be honest and confess that you have, to me, grown old, and that I no longer find you attractive.
You can expect, of course, that I will remain discreet in my (d)alliances.
