I have decided to let you go forever. You are welcome to join my other former friends, 300 and 310. I'm not sure where they are, but I'm sure they'll be happy to have you.
It turns out that you have not been a good influence on me. I have fed and maintained you and have kept you very close to me. In return, you have hurt me emotionally and physically. What kind of relationship is that? I think it's time to let you go forever.
Please don't feel like you're being singled out. I'm going to be weeding through my friend list and will likely unfriend 280, 270, 260, and many others
in the very near future. There's just no place for you in my life anymore, and yesterday I decided it was time to let you go.
I will also encourage my friends to reconsider their relationship with you as well. You have cost us far too much in ways I can't even begin to explain, and it's time to say goodbye.
I have written "Dear John" letters to food before... Here's one I wrote a few years ago when I threw some away...
Quote:
Oh, Quaker Oat Squares! How could I have forgotten thee, my former daily breakfast? You brought me succor during my days of girth, but as my waistline diminished, so did my need for thee. I cast you aside for the siren song of the cottage cheese pancakes, the yogurt and blueberries, and, how I hate to admit it, the steel cut oats.
Ah, but there you lurked in the shadows of the cupboard. For over a year. Biding your time, until the fateful day last week, when you once again felt the caress of my hand upon your cardboard box. “Ah. Quaker Oat Squares, my long forgotten love. Curse the fates and my new “lifestyle” for separating us. Are you still any good?” I mused. And you were.
Oh yes, you were good. Your crunch and slight sweetness caressed my palate. To taste. To swallow. To taste and swallow a whole bunch more. Therein lies the pleasure. Therein lies the pain. What was once just for breakfast now followed me to bed. We became constant companions. You filled my days, and my nights (and my mouth) like never before.
But, tonight the mist (and crumbs) that blinded me have now been cleared. I know what must be done.
Go forth, Quaker Oat Squares! Leave my cupboard posthaste! I love my new waistline more than thee. It was not to be. So, there you lie, in tiny tiny pieces in the trash at the curb. After all, Monday is garbage day.
Beware, Kashi Go Lean Crunch – the fates have yet to decide your fortune!
When I saw you I was shocked. I thought I had made it clear you weren't welcome here anymore. Now I am pleased to show you the door again. Your friend 285 should be joining you sometime next week.
Fat on my thighs & butt: You've laid around this place rent-free for far too long. You need a job. I'm putting you back to work. Yes, I've got appointments set up for you in spin & Pilates classes. Also some one-on-one tutoring on the elliptical & arc trainer. I expect you to pull your own weight & earn your keep.
Fat on my breasts: Please don't leave me like this. Not now. I still need you. I really do. We've been together so long. I thought we were pretty good together. I thought I'd treated you well. (Remember the gorgeous lacy new Chantelle bras that I just bought you?) But lately, I feel you slipping away. I feel you're really not there for me. That you may be thinking of moving on. I beg of you to please, please, reconsider your decision. We can still be good together.
Love, saef (tenuously hanging onto a 34B, while still in wide-calf boots)
Fat on my breasts: Please don't leave me like this. Not now. I still need you. I really do. We've been together so long. I thought we were pretty good together. I thought I'd treated you well. (Remember the gorgeous lacy new Chantelle bras that I just bought you?) But lately, I feel you slipping away. I feel you're really not there for me. That you may be thinking of moving on. I beg of you to please, please, reconsider your decision. We can still be good together.
Love, saef (tenuously hanging onto a 34B, while still in wide-calf boots)
We have been together for far too long. I let you have your friends over, 320 to 335 but all they do is trash the place and destroy my wardrobe. I don't know why you let them into MY room and go through MY things as they are YOUR friends. I'm afraid this arrangement cannot last much longer. I hand you here now your eviction notice. You have 48 hours to leave my body. If you do not you will be forced out. I'm sorry but you are no longer welcome here.
I need to tell you that:
1) it is a very good thing you come only once a year
2) your buffalo chicken cheese dip, while good, was not as amazing as I thought at the time
3) you are not worth five pounds and the two weeks it's taken me to recover on the scale
4) I don't even like football, so I don't think we'll be meeting again
I apoligize if this is upsetting to you, but I find myself unable to care. You lured me with your vegetables and then sprang the trap on me with your cream based sauces.
I am officially breaking up with you. I never see you, and when I do, I end up going home miserable, so goodbye.
I know we have not been together for very long and I was happy with you at first especially after 220 to 240 left but I think it's time for both of us to move on. I know this is short notice but you have until Tuesday to vacate the premises. I'm sorry but this is for the best. Goodbye.
Dear 217: I loved you the first time around -- you know, after I had ditched 290s and 280s and all of their friends. You were such a breath of fresh air. I loved you.
And then we parted. I fell in, eventually, with 173. I thought we were very good for each other. But somehow it just didn't work out.
When you and I met up again I knew right away it was a mistake. I yearn for my former love --173.
And so, I'm saying goodbye, baby. It was fun while it lasted, but you're just not right for me.
Dear 290, you stink and are a terrible friend.
