1. My partner, a block of cheddar cheese, can’t hold a pen. It is very self-conscious about this.

2. I can’t hold a pen and my partner at the same time. Although I’m not self-conscious about this, I just don’t see myself being able to be very productive.

3. The location of the retreat (the beach!!!) Cheddar and I don’t make art or love on or anywhere near beaches. We find the whole “ocean air breeds creativity and connectedness” to be a banal idea perpetuated by Nicholas Sparks and the writers of the movie The Beach House for their own monetary gain.

[NOTE: I reached out to Nicholas Sparks to verify if this was his agenda—if he had his little popular-romantic-fiction-typing fingers dipped in the money-pie of couples writing retreats. He could not be reached for comment. He was probably writing on a beach somewhere feeling loved and perpetuating the cycle.]

4. The cost. As your invitation suggests, you are aware that I’m a writer with a failing relationship. After rent, utilities, our Netflix subscription, and the soy-lattes required for us to pretend hanging out with our friend Marcy (a PHD holder) in a Starbucks every third Thursday counts as couples therapy, we simply can’t afford to pay sixty five dollars to compliment each other’s prose in a environment reeking of dead fish and even-deader relationships.

5. The inclusion of the phrase “date night” in the descriptor copy. As everyone knows, the term “date night” is reserved exclusively for young, toddler-rearing couples. I just turned 30 and Cheddar and I can’t have children. But thank you for reminding me.