Dear Bertha,

I regret that this letter means it’s over between us. I have tried to be patient, and supportive, but I can no longer support you with my bad back. I have to face the facts, I just can’t lift you.

Look, I’m not trying to be judgmental, but I just don’t think you’re committed to the idea of losing weight. You’ve tried diet after diet; pill after marketing gimmick. I’ve tried to tell you Bertha; you can’t lose weight unless you STOP MOTHER FUCKING EATING! Damn woman! It’s not low fat yogurt if you’re bulldozing through a half gallon package daily!

I used to love your cute ankles. Now, I can’t find them—and it makes me sad Bertha. No, don’t try to talk me out of it. It’s time for me to move on, and replace the springs on the passenger side of my car.

I don’t mean to sound insensitive. I will truly miss you. Whether it is memories of us going out to eat, ordering pizza for delivery, or just plain old “Super-Sizing” it, a part of you will remain in my heart forever. Hopefully just a small part, otherwise there won’t be any room to pump blood, and I’d die of cardiac arrest.

That being said, I hope we can remain friends. I tried to take care of you as best I could. I plan to buy a house in the near future, with the money I’ll save stocking a fridge you no longer have access to. Good luck with your new job. You’ve always loved kids. I’m so proud of you for volunteering to be that big ass thing they land on when they jump off the rope swing at summer camp, after their original sprung a leak.

Please don’t cry, I don’t want you to stain your shirt. You know how hard it is to get grease stains out.

Love always,

Syber

Originally posted 6/19/2003 by Syber