Dear Job Lot:
I don’t want to see you anymore. This time I really mean it. Last week was the last straw. I wanted a spare set of sheets and you were close by. You are always there, waiting for my next lapse in judgement. I ignored that still, small voice that told me don’t do it. I wanted to give you another chance. There was one set of queen sheets and they were cheap, of course. You always are. I made sure they were 300 thread count and I was pleasantly surprised that they were. This was more than I’d expected from You, given our history.
When I got home, I washed the sheets and attempted to put them on my bed. They didn’t fit. I did not even come close to getting the bottom sheet on the mattress. Those sheets were a lie. So I went back to return them, and for the last time. I am through with you. And no, I’m not just walking away quietly, either. I’m annoyed enough with you to put my feelings on the internet. Clearly.
There’s a chance I would’ve gotten over the useless sheets if it weren’t for all your other flaws. Like the empty bottle of nail polish, or the sunscreen that left me burned. There’s a reason my husband nicknamed you The Land of Not Quite Right. I should’ve been through with You after the chafing pans did not quite fit into their holders, or certainly after the flour product I bought from You set off the only case of kitchen moths I’d ever had. And how about the yoga mat that reeked of chemicals?
But no, I went back for more. Like the rug I wanted that was so inaccessible. I knocked myself so hard in the ribs getting it out of Your metal holder that I had to sit down to catch my breath. Okay, maybe that one is not your fault. I could have asked for help. I could have searched for a step ladder. But I’m venting right now, so it’s all You.
A good price is worthless if the damn stuff doesn’t work. You don’t tempt me anymore, not even a little. Oh I know You have your cheap holiday stuff out now, rows and rows of it. I know I might pay more elsewhere for some of your paper products or dish soap. But I don’t care. I’m just not giving You any more chances. Keep your clutter. All of it. I’m moving on for good.