Dear Sugary Pimp,
I’m scared of how you’ll retaliate, but we’re through. My fat pants are now my regular pants. The baby pouch is now a satchel. My bras need bras. I can’t maintain this relationship.
It occurred to me that our relationship was toxic when I realized you moved 15 other friends in on me. I didn’t notice at first: You had me in a happy cocoon filled with endorphin. One little (box of) chocolate and nothing even mattered at all. That was until I realized you were shamelessly going around town cavorting with everyone else in the city. I didn’t feel special and the few issues I had when we got together are now 99 problems.
So as I sit here with my elbows digging lightly into my new side rolls, I’m looking for a new love. It was real while it lasted, but I don’t like this lifestyle. All your things are in a box by the door. Be easy.