A Love Letter of Sorts

Dear Shower Curtain,

This may be the most difficult letter I’ve ever written. As I’m sure you’ve noticed there have been some changes around the homestead. There has been a lot more use of cleaning products, putting items away after they are used, and even a concerted effort to pick-up the unending supply of discarded arm hairs and nose hairs.

Can you believe we have been together for over a decade? Think about it, our relationship has lasted longer than presidential terms and an entire series of VH1’s I love the (insert decade of your choice). We’ve seen the conclusion of Dawson’s Creek, the entire series of Lost, and more baseball games than is worth counting. And through that time you have always been there for me. Hanging strong and proud. You never balked at when I disrobed, never flinched when I accidentally turned on the cold water first. Like a loyal and true friend you moved with me from home to home.

But our time has come to an end. Like Abbott and Costello, Bill and Ted, Tina and Ike, and Peanut Butter and Jelly; the curtain is descending. I’m sure you are going to be stunned into silence by this revelation, and that you may protest by hanging around lifelessly; all of these are to be expected. But this change is going to happen.

Not that it will mean much, but it’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. And, just between you and me, it isn’t of my choosing either. I know, I know, don’t cry. I can see the drips beading up on your liner right now. It’s, well…it’s complicated. See, the Redhead is moving in this weekend. I’m very excited about this change. I’m ecstatic. But she has suggested (read: demanded) that you go.

I pleaded for you. I begged. But she said, and I quote, “I hate it.” It’s not your fault. I swear. Only, please understand, mature adult relationships are complicated. Sometimes things become more than just stuff, but that transition isn’t always noticeable to everyone else. Sometimes a home means two people purchasing stuff as a symbol to the world, a manifesto so to speak, about what the relationship stands for. And I’m sure you did your best to make her feel comfortable; but when forced to chose, I have to let you go.

I’ll do my best to place you in a nice home. Maybe one with a big bathroom with two sinks and heated floor tiles. I’ll even try to come and visit as often as possible. But we both know we are going our separate ways.

So. Goodbye.

Spike