I decided to treat my mom to a few days in the city before heading over to the Island for some down time. No run ‘o the mill box inside a box was going to do for our city escapade. I was determined to find a luxurious-within-financial-reason diamond among the monotonous beige masquerading as homes away from home for our time in Vancouver.
I am on New Zealand’s glorious South Island, in a small town cozied up to the western border of Abel Tasman National Park, with a first class view of Golden Bay, relaxing in front of a fire built by my guy, snuggled in an overstuffed arm chair in the lounge of an eco lodge hand crafted by the owners, and …
Dear Plastic,
I am writing to inform you that I am leaving you.
I know this may seem callous, and even cowardly, ending our relationship through a letter after a lifetime together, but I fear a loss of resolve if I try to do this face to face. I imagine you saw this coming for a while now, perhaps you already knew when I brought that metal water bottle home.
You have many good qualities. I kept telling myself that things weren’t all that bad. You’re light weight, discreet, compactable, versatile, incredibly flexible to the point that you can be moulded into just about any form. What else could a woman ask for?
