You're the first to hear it. It's over. It's been a long time brewing, but finally, officially, we've called it quits. It's been so hard to do, but really, I think it's best for all of us. Family life was flailing, it was a terrible strain, and finally we've decided there's really no commitment there. It was a short fling. Coming up to Christmas makes it even harder but it was something that needed to be done, instead of dragging it out. We've decided to go our separate ways.
The bin and I are over.
I forgot to mention that the bin's house is on the market. Yep, all 6 bedrooms and 6 bathrooms of it.
Needless to say, the bin is moving on to greener pastures. But really, we all know I initiated the split. It came a week ago when I decided I just didn't want to go out and see it. I'd seen the signs, literally. The real estate agent had staked his claim on the bin's abode.
Breaking up is hard to do. But let's remember, I dumped the bin first. Not the other way around. Yep, I hold the trump card.
So last night I went out. Just for one last hoorah. I wanted to explain to the bin that 'it's not you, it's me'. Plus I thought they might as well be throwing out the family silver since they've thrown everything else out. Or maybe a nice vintage silk eiderdown jammed into the bin? Perhaps some lovely hand pieced quilt tops?
But guess what... The bin wasn't even there. Didn't even want to flirt with me. I couldn't even see it peeping out from the driveway.
I drove home. Despondent. Sad. A little shattered. When was I going to meet another bin like this one? This was like the sugar daddy of all bins. I know I play hard to get, but so does the bin, all's fair in the game of love and garbage, right?
Anyway, I just thought you'd want to know. We're over. We had some great times together. Even when the bin played the spider gag on me. I might have thought this bin was 'the one', but it wasn't to be. I know there are plenty more bins in the sea, but what if I don't find another one that's right for me?
Don't be concerned for me. I won't go cut my hair, get trollied and go dancing, spend the monthly wages on new shoes and eat chocolate 'til the cows come home. No, just a sensible step back into regular family life will do the trick.
It's sort of a relief. Now I can focus on my wonky sewing finesse. You'll see. Something good will come of it. But of course, I wanted to let you know first.