Tuesday, November 15, 2011

It's Not You, It's Me: A Breakup Letter To Oreos

My heart is broken and my pants don't fit...so I guess you could say I have broken pants as well.
 Morning Readers,

     I don't like hurting anyone's feelings, but there comes a time in every woman's life when she must put her foot down and say, "My pants don't button anymore. I need you to leave." For the past several weeks, I've enjoyed a fun-filled relationship with my old friend the Oreo. But, as good old Bobby Dylan always says, "The times, they are a-changin." Today, I write to my chocolate companion to gently let him know we will be going through a period of separation until I can get my zipper zipped, once more...

A Letter To Oreos
The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might: He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright-- And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night. - Lewis Carroll

Dear Oreos,

     How are you? I hope you enjoyed the above quote. It has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm writing you, but I know how much you like Lewis Carroll, so I thought I'd throw it in to ease your pain. Maybe I'm as sentimental as you always say I am...maybe I just like obscure quotes. Who knows? Did that make you laugh? 

I'll miss making you laugh....

     The past few weeks have been great. I mean, really great. Don't think I won't miss the late nights, the early mornings. Sometimes, when we'd lay in bed and watch TV, I couldn't help envisioning us as a slightly heavier version of Bella and Edward. "I want you to be my smooth, chocolatey princess of the night.", you'd whisper.

     "Yes." I'd reply as I rolled around in the crumbs.

     When we'd hide under the covers, you used to say that if I could eat a dozen of you, I'd live forever. You'll always be my blue, plastic, chocolatey vampire.

     But you lied; I won't live forever. Actually, I found out that if I keep eating a dozen of you a day, my life span may turn out to be substantially shorter than what I'm hoping for. Not to mention, I think Husband may be on to us. It's hard to hide the crackling when I shove you under my pillow, at night. Also, I think he saw the trail of crumbs leading from the kitchen, to the bathroom, to the closet.

     "Is someone here?" He'd asked.

     "Only the other half of my heart." I'd answered.  "My chocolatey, chocolatey heart."

     He hugged me and said, "You are so weird."

     Oh how I'd love to keep hiding you in my pockets and in the glove compartment, but the day has come when my the button on my pants screamed when I tried to close it. It's wrong to pick on defensless buttons, so I must bid you adieu for right now. This needs to be a clean break, so no throwing rocks at my window or leaving mixed tapes where you know I'll find them and be seduced back to you by the smooth, intoxicating sounds of Kenny G.

All my love,

Paige

Have you had to breakup with any of your vices lately?

Until Next Time, Readers!